My neighbor and I
simultaneously shovel
the snow off our
driveways.
She gives me a half-wave,
I give her a smile.
She must be at least
70 years old,
and struggles against
the weight of the heavy snow
as she tries to push it
aside.
I do my whole driveway
in the time it takes her
to do half.
When I finish
I light a cigarette.
I should go over
and help her, but
I've got other things to do
like
warm my frozen hands,
drink some hot chocolate,
maybe write something down.
Really, I'm just selfishly lazy.
I wait for her
to turn her back
before I dart inside.
I'm ashamed, you see.
I've got nothing to do
and she probably knows that.
I'll be avoiding her
deliberately
for a least a
week.
Chris Kornacki lives in Windsor Ontario, Canada where he works in a factory. His work has appeared in Open Wide, Zygote in my Coffee, Words Dance, Slow Trains, and some other journals.