The Day It Snowed In London by Nathan Evans
The City woke and found itself wearing a white dress -
A six inch layer of crisp virgin taffeta
That in twenty-four hours would be a soft grey dysentery
And a hard black glass in thirty-six.
But for now the mirror was unclouded
And the City caught its breath catching sight of itself,
Was silent and still for a moment -
Examining its features in its new reflective aura.
Then, showing teeth to match the frock, it laughed -
It couldn’t possibly go to work dressed like this!
No, it would have to call in sick (which it wasn’t,
In fact, this was the best it had felt in some time).
No, today it would run round like a mad thing,
Making things for the joy of making them
And not caring that they wouldn’t be there next morning.
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