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Making a Man (Free verse) by Christof
The snow is still soft, sifted in drifts Before the crust forms. Warm feet, rapidly cooling In clammy boots, Flute though the easy powder Pocking the skinless Whiteness of unbodied cold. Now a hand And a face solidify in the sun, Running and stooping, Scooping pawfuls to build the flat waste Into a body Ready to become a man. A breathing man Stands back, stamping and shivering, Wondering if With luck his daughter Will get bored, Worn out with snow that refuses to play, Before she calls him, Impatient, importuning, impolite, To make a head. Dread of his own irritation, Dislike of the temper Remembered from another father Thirty years ago Grown hot in his own head, Scorches red the snow. No father, really: Merely a progenitor.

Up the ladder: A Dutch Peasant
Down the ladder: the sky chooses blue

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Arithmetic Mean: 9.666667
Weighted score: 5.55628
Overall Rank: 2412
Posted: April 6, 2009 6:25 AM PDT; Last modified: April 6, 2009 6:25 AM PDT
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Comments:
[9] http://mulberryfairy @ 70.16.67.83 | 5-May-09/6:58 PM | Reply
Beautiful and real. "flute through the easy powder"?
[n/a] vulcan @ 91.184.89.192 | 7-Jul-09/7:59 AM | Reply
hello dear Chris..hope you're fine..great to see you here again..and read one more of your wonderful poems..you're doing great as before..all the best.
[10] daniella @ 127.0.0.1 | 8-Oct-17/9:06 PM | Reply
i feel the memories biting through. this is lovely. and i love how you are alluding to the inner man and the outer snow man at once...
[n/a] Christof @ ::1 > daniella | 31-Oct-17/9:38 AM | Reply
Thanks Daniella. What brought you back to my poems after so long?
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