the streets would be fields of snow.
The people could frolic,
finally.
They would all have happy faces
beneath their bouncy pom-pom hats

even when the child
whose parents made him wear a tuxedo
threw a compact ball of ice
slicing into their numbly stinging cheeks
and blessed them with
a concussive coma,
and even when his father
bought all the snow
and would only give it away
if you gave him your soul

their mouths would still be smiling
but their pupils would have disappeared
hiding in the depth of their eyes
below the layers of knit sweaters and tattered winter coats

until a naked hippie prophet
will blow the snow
flakes into a swirling fantasy