Snowstorm, Prison Boot Camp
Two boys in jumpsuits ride in the bed of the stake truck
Michigan Department of Corrections seal on the doors
two more hop on and off the bumper collecting garbage
from each curb and driveway on Main Street
the rest wait their turn in the blue Dodge van idling behind
beyond that, traffic piles up
These aren’t serious offenders, maybe a brick through a school window
or a mailbox busted with a baseball bat from a moving pickup truck
a judge took pity and sent them to camp instead of prison
probably gave them a speech about bootstraps and second chances
and they nodded earnestly, yes sir, no sir – it was better than prison
An acne-pocked kid steps off the diamond-plate bumper
to pick up a cardboard box and toss it to a kid riding in the bed
who, for some reason, held it for a moment, as if he knew
what was going to happen next
the wind opened its flaps
and hundreds of Styrofoam bits burst forth
his personal snowstorm
they floated around his head in slow-motion,
there was a delay before the breeze carried them away
and then they exploded around the truck, cascading down the street
bouncing off the windshield of the Dodge, the windshields of the minivans and
sedans further behind them
they smiled at this simple, unexpected pleasure
Styrofoam snowflakes
the guards even cracked a grin and turned on the windshield wipers of the Dodge
the snow, carried west by the wind,
came to rest along the front yards and blacktop driveways along Main Street.
Poem by Gregory Parker
