Grey glittered salt hides the streets centreline 

It fans out towards hard geometric

Shapes Of brown muted greys hints

Of polished steel this bromidic afternoon

Trees stark skeletons sentinel the verges waiting

Stolid for their life’s blood to be restored branches

Pierced by cables strung from their ancestors

The pedestrian paths of marauding squirrels 

Peripherally dirty damaged snowmen beg for cold

Ravaged by pale afternoon sun 

Taunting warmth offering little promise

Of a  distant COVID free spring

There is no focus in this scene no golden

Triangle to draw the eye to resolution

Only the haze of a noxious mist from

Tailpipe throats of angry beasts that

Roam this pointless dreary winter road