Chaffed hands, bristled cold
the kind I expect to see
on snowman building days.

not afternoons of chart making
another Thursday’s work.

Flip. Flop. scuttle pull
change in a pocket jingles
as he bends up and down
down and up, over a box
of six colored chart parts

Slow steady fingers pull
only a hint of a shutter
a paper pulls out, rejected.

Then he’s to the next pile
Not a slow point in the ritual.

The chaffed hands, they’re red now
all peach blush red and very steady
even in bristled, snowman cold.