Snow Driver

A few days ago it felt like sixty below
And I had a little problem, you see?

It started like this, with a near-miss
As a car bounced right past me.

From the start I could tell, somethin' wasn't well,
That I shouldn't be on the road.

But I went to my car (work isn't that far),
I knew I could bear the load.

What I didn't know, and it happened to show,
Was how to drive on the snow.

Do you go fast? Or do you get there last
By going so very slow?

With trepidation, but under temptation,
I decided to go on ahead.

But even with that fraction of my best tires' traction,
I feared I would end up dead.

I pulled out of my drive with hope to survive
On that smooth and perilous ice.

Though it wasn't just me who had turned a key
That knew tires would just not suffice.

Out of others, I knew, the well were few.
And then to my up most horror,

The roads were closed, the de-icer froze,
Which left me a-mighty sore.

The car stopped short and I looked to port
And a worker shouted clear,

"The thing broke down! You can't get to town,
But we're still workin' here."

"What'd ya mean? The road looks clean!"
This was my reply.

It was black ice, not at all nice
And invisible to the eye.

But I had to work, I could not shirk
The job on which I rely.

So I backed up far, and then with the car
I jumped a mound to fly.

Now at that time, my dash chose to chime
That the engine was on the fritz.

It struck me queer that the thing chose here
To fall into the pits...

I landed with a thud and a splash of gray mud,
Buried to the door in slush.

My mind was about, thinking how to get out
Of that freezing pile of mush.

And losing my job? The thought made me sob.
I could not afford to be late!

But this accursed day, with its snowy lay...
It had to be dealt by fate!

So I set myself, without any help
About the daunting task.

The workers past and as they did they laughed,
Concerning help, I didn't ask.

I had half an hour in which to power
My way through all that snow,

But what could I say? I would make my way
Without that needed tow.

I don't know why I did not let it lie,
But the screwdriver called my name.

Fix it, I could and I popped the hood;
It all looked about the same.

Yet I got my start on the rusty old cart
Even though I knew not how.

Then somethin' came by and let some slush fly,
Hitting the hood with a pow.

It ripped it away and there it laid,
Flat and dirty now.

An idea hit! When my engine was fixed
I'd turn it into a plow!

There was cord in the back, tied in a sack
That I could use to make it tight.

But the engine was first, for which I cursed,
For I cowered just at the sight.

Now I'm not a man who knows an oil can.
I was in the dark.

But I know how to drive and work from nine to five
And in which spot to park.

I took a wrench, hoping it would be a cinch
And began the task at hand.

When I took it apart, thinking it might not restart,
I knew I could not understand.

The complexities of that engine thereof
Kept me from seeing straight.

So when I thought it was fixed, parts unmixed,
The nightmare might just abate.

Boy was I wrong, it was just prolonged
By the car's refusal to go.

And I still had the hood, which I hoped withstood
My tinkering as I plowed the snow.

When at last I reached my work I screeched
In horror as I saw the lot.

Today was Sunday! I didn't work 'til Monday!
Worthless was the battle I fought!

I stood there alone, and made a silent groan
At all the problems I'd faced.

But hey, I'd learned that an option unturned
Can make a problem erased.

The moral of the tale that you cannot fail
Without a driving force.

So if you fall off, don't just scoff!
Get back on the horse!

But remember this and do not dismiss
The advice I'm about to say.

Do not ever shirk the job which you work
Because of a bad snow day.