the first day ice departs, boots sink, feet
slide not slip, and cabin fever infests
the bigger pick-ups. on the road,
I pull right, right right: and there's a rattle
of rocks now left by kicked up gravel,
and headlights that scan closer and closer.
just wave. let them go by, heading
where they’re not getting, not really,
not yet, not til spring rises and sun shines.