the world is turned  

the world is turned
by the oversized snow boots
of the little boy
circling the bus stop pole

from the patterned soles
of his marching boots
clumps of shortbread snow
drop in his wake
in a steady rhythm
propelling the world around

the world is turned
by the whining spin
of black rubber tires
on crystalline snow

the cabbie at the wheel
pulls the world
toward him
while his centrifugal fury
throws him back toward the dawn

the world is turned
by the gentle snow fall
waterwheeling the world
beneath the buses
the taxicabs
the slow steady walkers
turning and being turned

the world is turned
by the breath
of the commuters
trailing behind them
like biplane pilot scarves

the autumn lungs
the summer lungs
in the winter air
haul the trees
haul the parking meters
and street signs back
toward the icicle drip
that turns the world

the world is turned
by the heft and tip
of the little boy’s flimsy stroller
up the curb

the mother girl
in the bolero jacket
belly bare
tattoo clothed
lifts the boy with the hood

so big only his tongue licking
snowflakes is visible
and sets him on the sidewalk
where his oversize snow boots
turn the world

© 2006 Gordon C. McRae