In Just Winter

In just Winter
The world smells like ham and cheese sandwiches
which I notice as I walk from class
Past the table where Dom sells
truffles
and love poems
for Valentine's Day
and I keep my head down
because I promised to buy one
and I haven't.
I used to pick the melty cheese
off the sandwiches we had at school
and eat just bread,
wincing as I encountered some American
I had missed.
Past the igloo on the mall
soft and melty
the entrance a black hole with mush surrounding
I never went in, you know?
Mom used to tell me not to make snow forts like that
because they can collapse
and crush you into suffocating whiteness.
I was only allowed to dig a little bit into the plowed snow
at the edge of the driveway, making a half cave
that barely concealed my sled and I.
It's just Winter
and the world is of softening snow
and ham and cheese sandwiches.
Someone asked me why I didn't say anything in American Lit.
Her name might have been Brittany or Angela.
I said I just didn't feel like it.
How does one explain
that the soggy world outside
(even as it dissolves into nothing)
means more today
(as it drips to nothing)
than even F. Scott Fitzgerald?