Ommerike Poem by Tim Liardet

The snowstorm came down, it blew across Boston,
it said all roads behind you are closed for good;
when mass collides with mass and crawls lower,

when snow falls for forty-eight hours, you have to stop.
It blew. It billowed. Such weight of snow to stop
everything in its tracks. Stop, said the snowstorm,

set out, when I abate, from here. Stop, and watch
the whole of me blow in silence through the glass.
The tumbler knocked from the table by mistake,

it said, is yet to reach the foyer's marble floor.
The body of whomsoever is dumped headlong
will fall but never reach the bottom of the well...

My plane touched down on time, your train was held up
which meant it got in as my plane touched down.
Some fluke of clockwork meant my chronograph ran

as many seconds fast as yours was running slow.
We were booked into the same room by clerical error
under the same name, which was neither of our names.