Poem 26: The Road Home from Pre-School

Through the trees
from the Industrial Park,
I could see
the frozen bend in the river.
Over the iron bridge,
glazed with snow,
I could see puffs of mist
at the confluence.
This was my frigid return,
down the hill, across
the river, over a ridge.
The clouds were thin,
the sky, blue. You
probably didn't notice,
absorbed with your friends
at school.