She leaves for work, I'm out of bed a cup of coffee, a bowl of cereal The paper and the kitchen table the heat hissing through the floorboards Then the doorbell It's about the front walk "$10 to shovel it?" His cheeks as red as transmission fluid "I'll get your car unstuck even" He's leaning against his shovel instead of sitting in a classroom across town Instead of riding down a hill on the back of a sled A real go-getter A yawn comes, my robe slips open Beat it, I say, before I call the cops (Later that night, he throws a snowball at our picture window) The door shuts and then it's back to bed Her side of the bed Her pillow has such a smell Like warm hair It might not sound like much but there's something about it When she calls an hour later I tell her I'm writing a poem It's about winter I tell her And children Christmas, I say, lying She tells me I should be out looking for a job getting off my ass She tells me to get out front To shovel the goddamn sidewalk