A Drifter in Winter

She stands on the corner with her sign,
cars grumbling, waiting for the green,
their drivers jittery jays, the line

eternal. Visibly unseen,
she eyes the windshields. Now it turns
and all, from van to limousine,

tear out as if the city burns.
She clings to her soggy cardboard, blinking
at pellets pelting roadside ferns

as frozen as her feet. Day’s sinking.
Others arrive with Christmas gifts:
soaps, candles, toys. Exhaust fumes stinking,

billowing blue, a Chevy shifts.
Cars make tracks. More fill the gaps.
She shivers in the swirling drifts,

wincing at the blizzard’s slaps.