You are the skis in the snow,
the umbrella in a hurricane.
You are the internet search bar
and the sidewalk chalk sketches.
You are the shiny sneakers in stores,
and the basketball swishing the net.

However you are not the cheerios in the box,
the change in wallets,
or the peak of Mount Everest.
And certainly you would not fit in with the morning air.
There’s no way you would fit in with the morning air.

It is possible you could be a skyscraper if you stretch,
maybe even the swears of city cab drivers.
But you are not even close to being the words in the paper.

And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither the fitted suit on the hanger
nor the caricatures on magazines

It might interest you to know,
speaking of city wonders,
that I am the vocal warmups on Broadway.

I also happen to be the coffee shop doors opened late,
the pulled blinds at night
and the stack of books near the bed

I am also the frazzled pedestrian,
and the unexpected curio shop.
But to be expected,
I am not the skis in the snow

You are still the skis in the snow.
You will always be the skis in the snow,
not to mention the umbrella
battling the winds of the hurricane.