FIRST SNOW

It never really snows snow
in Seattle.
Not the way it snows snow
in Chicago.

Sometimes, I think I see
a single fluffy snowflake
gliding down, fat and mean—
breaking apart the gloom
of the uniform brown bricks
with a chubby silver gleam—
just outside my alley window.

I get up, rush over.
“The first snow,” I shout—
preparing to call my friends
and announce the arrival
in tweets and texts alike.
But after waiting ten seconds
for the snowstorm to buffer,
I come to the conclusion
that it was just a pigeon.

Might have been a seagull, also;
Shit or feather, I’m not so sure.
But it sure wasn’t snow.
Not the way snow is snow
in Chicago.