Edmonton without a Parka

My bus rolls into Edmonton at two in the
morning, a full three hours late due to
greasy snow. There's been a trapezoid of
reflected blue light in the window, down by
the side of the Greyhound, that has followed us
for hours like some pilot fish.
Sleep my son sleep like a bear.
I wake up to the white window and a
white Starbucks. In my tennis shoes
and suit jacket I hunt down breakfast.
Okay breakfast is over I'll try lunch.
The six foot parrots on top of Earls
look French -- they are wearing white
berets of snow. It's election day, and
that day turns into the night of 14 innings of
Red Sox comeback baseball. It's the
most snow that has fallen in Edmonton
in 156 years. And I have come to read.