Snow drifter

Nick rubs the last of the crumbs into his gums and waits for the tingle. He swallows down the pharmaceutical phlegm, runs his tongue over the numbness where his teeth used to be, and stands taller. Every neuron in his brain is fizzing. He is alive. Invincible. No longer a loser in a slow death of a job, but a man with spark who’s going somewhere. As soon as he gets out of this stinking bog, that is. He kicks back the door, struts past the miserable urinals and feels every cell in his body swell as the music hits him like a sonic massage. His cock is vibrating to the beat. He wants a fuck so bad. He looks around knowing he has to act before the magic fades – before the powder wears off and these girls start to look like the dogs they are or recognise him for the shameful cunt he is. Then he spots one he knows. Jesus. Tina. Nick? Yeah. Crazy, man. What you doing here? Oh, you know. Night off from the kids. You? Nah, don’t really see mine any more. Messy. Fuck that anyway. Drink with me. Yeah, fuck it. Why not. He orders two tequila shots. He never drinks tequila but the shock of seeing her has temporarily short-circuited his high. He winces as she knocks it back in one, wipes her glistening chin and orders them another. How’s Gary? Yeah fine. Out most nights. May as well be a single mum. He clocks the trenches round her eyes. The magic is fading. His stomach is churning. Fuck me, she mouths. He can just make out the words over the throbbing bass. What? Fuck me. He’s about to ask what about Gary but he knows it’s futile. It’s a done deal. He leads her back to the toilet and forces her against the cistern. He grapples with her tights with one hand and his jeans with the other. His cock is non-existent but he rams away at her anyway and starts to get hard. She’s moaning. He thumps against her six, seven, eight times until she starts to shudder. That was quick he’s thinking, then realises she’s crying. How did I get here, she’s saying over and over. What the fuck am I doing? She pushes him away and crashes out the door, her bag lying in a puddle of piss at his feet. He feels properly sick now, then sees a twenty amidst the lipstick and tampons and snorts a line. Then another. And another. Job done, he heads outside where she’s puking in the gutter. I’m sorry he says, handing her the bag. That shouldn’t have happened. You always were a selfish cunt, she screams. That whole time Mark was ill and you never even… she stops and pukes some more. I didn’t know what to say. You didn't have to say anything. He needed you. I was scared. Don’t you think he was fucking scared? I know, he says. His face is wet now, his tears melding with the faint specks of snow fighting for landing space. That high he felt in the club, that five-minute window of possibility… this is the exact inverse. His whole life is one long fucking come down. He can barely make out what she’s saying now, the flashbacks are so intense. There’s something about the swirling snowflakes that hypnotises him. They must have been barely teens. School was closed, heating failure. Mark knew a place, had a plan. They stole a packet of Tina’s ciggies and a bottle of Drambuie and headed to the Ups And Downs, makeshift sledges in hand. The snow had coated everything like fresh Tippex. It was theirs. All theirs. Silence. Mark’s fucking brilliant grin. We’re kings of our own destiny, my friend. Never forget that. Because no matter how shit life gets there’s always moments like this when you can rub it all out, you know, and start again. A brand new page. They haven’t even touched the booze and already Mark’s on one of his sermons, but Nick gets it. He always gets it. I miss him, Tina is crying. I miss him, I miss him, I miss him. He can’t tell if he is trembling from the cold or withdrawal. His hand instinctively reaches down for the coke in his pocket then, suddenly possessed, lobs the crumpled wrap into the road before he has chance to change his mind. The way he sees it, he can carry on killing himself one gram at a time, or he can be the guy he once saw reflected in his best friend's eyes. The one who flew down that fucking hill in a bin bag then staggered howling with laughter back to the top before relaunching himself. Again. And again. So much possibility. He puts his arms around her. I know he says. Come on. Let’s get you home. The snow falls with more purpose; the pavement finally surrendering to the frozen assault. Tomorrow the grimy streets will be pure white.   

By Beth

SNOW

Chris.


My poem about snow.

Some things you may, or may not know.

Couldn't think of many words that rhyme, but I’ll give it a go.

It’s that white frosty stuff, which falls from the heavy, dark sky,

If you’re unlucky, a snow flake will fall into your eye.

Under a microscope, every flake is different.

That I didn't know, about snow.

When it does come down and settles, it turns trees, fields, rooftops, and roads etc. a different colour, and that colour is white.

It’s good for sledging, and when made into a ball,

good to throw & have a snowball fight.

That’s fun, as you probably know, and after a while, your hands feet and face begin to glow.

Snow can be sculptured into numerous things, not just men, but very creative?

I think ‘that’s art’, made from snow. 

But just because it looks pretty, that doesn't make it right!

Snow turns everything green to white,

giving some people a fright.

People trying to clear their drives, with brooms and plastic shovels,

sometimes, even at night!

The temperature is freezing; it does turn into ice,

and (not just for me) that’s not always nice!

Lots of children may be very happy, to school they don’t go,

when it’s bad snow.

Their parents will be thinking ‘not again’ Oh, please, NO’!!

Old people fall and that’s not right, they also don’t want to get involved

in a snowball fight!

Very cold cyclists (if you see any) covered up; you just see their eyes,

they are just trying to stay upright, that’s no surprise.

Farmers must hate it, not the time to sow

and the snow

won’t let the crops grow. 

At the moment, it’s stopping me earning, but I won’t get low,

it’ll get me writing more, so come on, LET’S GO!!

Yesterday, I saw paw prints, it was of a cat. That I do know.

Looked like it was walking slow, in the very white snow.

Just like me, cautiously walking into town,

still the white stuff came down!

I had my boots on, not my shoes,

but it’s not as bad here, as some places I have seen on the news.

Even some 4 by 4’s were not able to go.

I slipped a bit, on the slippery, frosty pavement, as I walked slow,

but the road had drivers stuck in traffic; I looked at all the stationary cars,

with white bonnets & roofs covered in inches of snow,

with the drivers mentally forcing the car in front, to try and get it to go.

I wonder if their car doors had been frozen closed, I don’t know.

Then later, I watched the snow falling in the dark, yes it was night,

in the streetlight,

the flakes fell and they seemed bigger and they also seemed to glow.

But I really can’t wait to see it all melt, bye bye snow,

I’ll then watch the water flow.

Now has that been enough info, about the snow?

Because I must go,

but I wonder if the weather will be the same tomorrow?

If so,

everything will happen again and be the same, because of the snow.  

Finished!  And exactly 613 words total. Phew!

My first ever written poem, please, please tell me, how did I do?

I think I’ll put my name to it; I’m brave enough, so you’ll know.

But if you think that I’ve made any mistakes, please let me know. 

Please also take careful note, I thought it was very, very, good of me,

especially,

as on purpose, in my poem about snow,

I DID NOT until now, mention the word once.

That word, of course, was ‘yellow’.

Snow - haiku and poems. By David

Clouds pregnant with hope

Give virgin birth to soft snow.

Hard land quiet now.

____________

Snow falls quietly.

Trees and land become silent.

A bird sings its love.

____________

The dead lie still in dark cool earth.

Roots of trees probing their bones,

Their leaves above graced by virgin white

To echo the pleas of those that lie under

To the grey and glowering sky.

 

____________

I hear the dead whisper in the trees

As snowflakes settle on quivering leaves.

Dead buried beneath

Long probing roots in soft flesh earth,

Where the dead of man and plant

Merge in compound harmony

Watered by the juice of clouds,

And rise through woody sap

To raise their voices in sibilant succour

And praise the God of life.

____________

Such white is this

That I don't deserve.

My soiled life does dirty this snow

Wherever I put my feet.

Wonderful that I

Should be allowed to know

Such purity.

____________

Snow gives a soft veneer

To the crunchy hard beneath.

Like a politician's slippery white smile,

It catches the unawares

And turns to something grey and wet

That just make your trouser bottoms soggy.

___________

That's all folks!

D