The Bus Ride

Today
when I left for work
the ground was covered in snow.
All around there were giant heaps of it
taller than a man
so blindingly white, brand-new snow,
that it stung my eyes.
An absolute whiteness
like the cover of The White Album
before it yellowed over time
and the corners got all soft and mushy
time having softened the corners into a pulp.

The bus was very late today because of the
extensive political protest
and the snow,
peopled to the rim.
Hats, red and brown and grey and black
because the weather is cold
but still some dare-devils go hatless.

A man wearing a white and grey camouflage coat
tells me at the stop that he needs to
buy some towels asap and is this the bus to
get some towels.
Yes, I reply, this bus goes downtown so
you can get anything you want,
including the towels.

Outside the petshop on top of the hill
a police car.
A woman
basically ploughing her way through the snow
with a stroller and
a bigger child walking right next to her and
a brown dog with big floppy ears.

Outside my building
there were six or seven able-bodied men and women
ploughing the snow, manually,
volunteering, I believe,
because we live far from the city and
the city ploughers won't get to our part until
late tonight
or maybe tomorrow morning.

Ours is not a "red zone": to be ploughed
immediately.
We all know this
but lots of people have cars
the elderly have trouble muddling through
even I, another able-bodied man or woman,
have problems
and I am wearing my Caterpillar work boots!

No one complains, though,
people sit on their seats in a hallowed silence,
acquiescent in these conditions
because the political protest
concerns us all, and
we all came prepared with
an extra hour for the commute.
We know what is important.

I don't know what
became of the man looking for
the towels.
I sat in a different section in the bus, and
got off at my usual stop
by the flower shop
where I always stop for a moment to
admire the bouquets.