“Walking home from work . . . in winter ”
A poem by Scott Petersen (circa – a winter night in 1985)
Wind blows cold in my face.
Always.
Never sun. Freezing, biting, eye-closing wind.
Every icy step is uphill. Every step a journey of a thousand miles.
Hooks pull.
Hunger, thirst, exhaustion and darkness.
With no end. No remorse.
Wind pushes me back. Always.
Never rest. Mind racing. Muscles aching.
I press forward. Each thought a labor.
Each thought – a painful ache.
Each thought concludes that there is no end.
Yet every passing minute – closer to the goal.
Bleak darkness speaks.
Always.
Desperate for sleep, I cry for the night.
Eyes heavy. Heart heavy. Nearly the end.
But there is a dim light. I am home. Late again. But home. Finally.
And dinner. . . . .
Boiled chicken. Frozen broccoli. Asparagus.
And cranberry juice. . . . .