The boy sits by the crackling radio
listening intently to the voice that is
trying to decipher the signs of the clouds, winds,
and plummeting degrees, so that they can be translated
into visions of snow.
The boy hurries off to bed, eagerly expectant that
tomorrow a world anew will greet him,
painted by his Father in a tone of purity that masks
the grey monotony of his inner-city life.
Dreams of snow greet him as he falls into blissful sleep.
The boy awakens and hears not a sound,
save his heart thumping in his eager chest.
His room is aglow with a dappled light straining to shine
through the curtains - the glimmer from snowflakes innumerable,
each one a down payment for this boy’s joy.
The boy bounds to the window, yanks his curtains back,
and…