I wanted that job!

Every day in Poetry this semester I've gazed out the window at the rooftops covered in ice and dreamt of taking a big shovel and shoveling the ice off the roof. The edges around each large mass of ice were surrounded by gray wet melting, and I wondered how the ice never fully melted with a building underneath it emitting heat. Oh how I longed to shovel that ice and enjoy the pleasure of tossing it off the side and watching it smash on the concrete below.

Today at the busstop a man climbed a ladder onto a roof and began shoveling the ice. I was devestated.