Now More Snow

Your ears are getting fuzzy.
Your thoughts are getting rusty.

Your career’s almost ended.
Your bank account’s near empty.

Another misty day in the desert
That doesn’t know what to do with its snow.

The landscape’s greyish as an MRI
Displaying the inner architecture

Of blotchy clumps on which your thoughts depend.
Upstairs, the young are stirring,

The girl who likes to sleep late
And the kittens complaining.

No one should be born to this world,
Says a young woman explaining

Why she won’t have any children
In China, home to one billion

Four-hundred million citizens.
No one should be born to this world.

Here we are, though, and loathe to go.
The kittens have woken the girl.