Snow Cat Mailbox

Snow Cat Mailbox

The force of light snowflakes is a cumulative menace,
Flake by flake they weigh no more
  Than does the willow floss,
Or wind blown maple seeds when on the wing

Bur when compacted with a snow plow’s inertia,
Tumble-churned in the vortex of that semi-circ maw,
  It is propelled with the force
Of an elephantine dump truck stampede charging on behind

Sending punch-ice bushels of slush with each passing,
Of which our mail box, but a light and empty thing, at its mercy,
  Is pushed off to the lower drive, 
There to lie half buried in the cold wet sand-scree snow

It’s post, stronger for the buried metal mount
Remains defiant as a tree stump after the storm,
  Open handed holding out its arm and board
Where once our box, now ripped, was nailed

And now it is the discretion of the postman
To lay our bills and letters by our doorstep,
  Out there, naked to the will of the wind,
Perforce to be as snowflakes born away