Olympic Peninsula Propaganda
A poem by Linda B. Myers

Olympic Peninsula Propaganda

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Snow was only mentioned in Chamber brochures
as appearing on the mountaintops
for far-away pretty, not close-up practicality.
It was kept secret,
here in the land of the sock and sandal,
that snow might kneecap you down on the beach.
I lodge my official “now see here” complaint

and then I go to the garage
to excavate my wool socks from
the frozen tomb of their abandonment.
I awaken from retirement the grizzled boots
that carried me through Chicago streets.
Over my anorak I wrap the cape of guanaco wool
that hasn’t seen the light of day
since the Fog Bowl in Soldier Field.

For sure, the Raven isn’t the only trickster
that lives in these parts,
cackling at me from behind the trees.
Nonetheless,
I wish you all a fond farewell
in case I do not return
as equipped with ice pick, salt bag, snow shovel,
I mount my assault on the driveway to the mailbox.

About the Author:

Linda B. Myers is a Chicago transplant to Washington’s Olympic Peninsula where she has settled in as part of the old growth. Myers survived a career in marketing; has published ten mystery and historical novels; is newish as a poet; writes a monthly opinion piece for the Sequim Gazette; co-founded Olympic Peninsula Authors dedicated to promoting the many fine writers out here in the back of beyond. She can be reached with compliments at myerslindab@gmail.com

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