The Aberrant Snowflake
 
When that five-legged snowflake came fluttering down,
soundlessly, smack in the heart of our town,
we exemplars of symmetry couldn’t quite get
how a soul could become so misshapen. A threat
 
to our halcyon lives? Yes! And we were as scared
as snow-people caught in a heat wave. We glared
at that aberrant flake (though that aberrant flake
looked as frightened as we were). “A fake! He’s a fake!”
 
hollered Harvey the Hailstone, as Icicle Ike
hauled him straight to the cooler. He looked rather like
those demons that dwell in a huge nimbostratus
and then, by the millions, hurl misery at us.
 
Perhaps we were flaky, perchance superstitious
to think an irregular snowflake suspicious,
but soon other odd-looking shapes came down, fluttering,
leaving us chilled to the marrow and shuddering.
 
We whispered of exile. We counted each limb.
Five points was the standard. The verdict was grim.
Yet little by little, those flakes proved quite affable,
their points soft as ours, which made panic quite laughable.
                                                       
While those flakes were a little bit strange and deformed,
we have missed them all spring since the weather has warmed.
And yes, having liquefied, too, as expected,
to pure H2O, we’re now deeply connected.

Martin Elster

If you have any thoughts about this poem,  Martin Elster  would like to hear them.