Scratch

The blue-ice bite of winter
Paints its face across the land
The trees are naked in the wind
With bare and frozen hands

A boy wakes up that morning,
His radio turns on
Bill Cosby fills the room
Singing a Christmas song

He gazes out the window
At the wound’rous falling snow
“There won’t be school today,” he thinks
“That for sure I know.”

He descends down the stairs
Of the dim and silent house
He gazes at the bird feeder
Giving breakfast to a grouse

The Christmas tree is standing tall
Its lights give off a glow
He sits down next to it and hears
The wind begin to blow

He sets a fire in the pit
And watches the flames dance
They cast a shadow on his face
As they duck and roll and prance

His dad starts to walk in
But then turns back around
“I shouldn’t disturb him,” he thinks,
“I shouldn’t make a sound.”

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