The road is damp from
snow that didn’t stay
Through the open windows of
the tofu restaurant I hear ladies
clamoring and chatting,
their personal lives
The convenience store across the street
hasn’t changed in a while.
The outside walls are worn like a favorite
kitchen apron with grease stains and other
predictable signs of wear.
Faithful customers gather at plastic tables
people-watching and smoking cigarettes
I walk between these comfortable
places, through the snow that could have been
Looking down I see the word painted on the road
reads “slow” in Korean.