Poem 3, June 3 Driving from Rice Subdivision Wind from the southwest strips white blooms from Bradford Pears that line the street. Like large snowflakes in February, they create a blizzard & fall, covering grass in white. I remember two winters in a row when I lay on frozen ground, ratting the sewer line. I hear my father’s voice talking about men freezing to death in the Battle of the Belgium Bulge. At the stop sign while I wait, I close my eyes. The warmth of your skin when I massaged your shoulders & your neck excites me… The driver behind me honks–my eyes open.