End of Things

 

In their fluorescent snowsuits on top of the sledding hill

They looked like three South Park Kennys,

Standing rigid and surveying the state of the slope below:

In late March, after months of heavy wear and tear

And with the blunting of the mid-winter freeze,

There wasn’t much left of the snow –

Some wisps, strands, and islands here and there,

With last year’s sickly grass beginning to show.

What did they see as they looked around:

Their first disappointment, smeared with stains

Of dirty sludge? A broken promise of fairy-tale magic

Gone in a gust of spring rain? A dawning sense

That this was deeper than what they saw and

Cut into something they didn’t yet know?

 

For a few moments they stood still, then turned

And started their slow descent down the hill.