A plastic one-piece green toboggan lay
on snow white pummeled flat thin slippery.
This ancient funnel, dusty pebbled gray
all summertime; in winter powdery
redbrown and tiny stone-eggs bleeds still through.
A boy alone will rush careful bikeback
between tin posts the trail narrows into.
Can’t fly so fast across snow, with kid bro
and sis, with shield sleds and splashing snow.

[Bartleby’s Poetry Corner]