Shoveling Snow with Buddha

( after Billy Collins)  

 
 
He shows up from out of nowhere,  
of dazzling blue once the storm passes by.  
Approaches with a smile, eyes of crescent moon,  
offering a hand of strength and of mirth,  
as honest labor of brotherly love.  
 
I could be overthinking an uncommon sight  
added to an otherwise common act.  
 
Besides, there’s nothing out of place  
when it comes to Winter at this time of year,  
with my neighborhood inundated in white powder.  
And I don’t question his abbreviated attire,  
a free-thinking soul such as myself.  
 
But has he not got things turned around  
in the scheme of temperatures?  
 
Still, off we go clearing my driveway,  
shoveling without stopping for a meditate.  
Serene, with a sense of serenity, opens his face,  
while it is our own man-made flurry’s arc  
that blurs each other in the crisp air.  
 
Working under Heaven than indoors,  
I call out in the brilliance, the Buddha digs.  
This is why we are born, with Nature in Winter,  
I raise my free hand but he concentrates.  
The way to Nirvana is via driveway.  
 
Better take the car in this weather;  
the heater doesn’t work but the radio does.  
 
We go nonstop until the day is noon.  
With my endless, run-on definitive larks,  
and him in a simple, quiet place of harmony.  
All about us, the snow castles we made,  
it’s then I hear him say like I would do;  
Can we go inside and read poetry?  
 
By all means. Anyone in particular?  
The Buddha serenely sighs, eyes seek  
as he bows in a moment’s contemplation,  
and the dazzling blue of midday sky  
casts the blade into fresh snow.