Snow Storm

by John Rocco

It’s late: after 3 AM
New York blasted on snow
all night long
covering everybody everything
streets cars bars houses buses buildings
and the women I know
who don’t
talk to me anymore.

I wonder where they are
the women who don’t talk to me
anymore. In bed with other men,
watching TV, cooking, online,
drinking, smoking, writing, fucking.

The night is quiet
killed in snow
quiet
with the quiet of the moments
I was in their rooms
the women who don’t talk
to me anymore
looking at their stuff
and their beds.

Snow makes me think
of them
the women who don’t
talk to me anymore
because they used to be
really there, everywhere
covering everything
soon to me gone completely
when time makes it so
quiet
with the snow falling.

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