What Snow Hides

The first snow fell on the parking lot

where I waited for the bus,

and it was beautiful for maybe thirty seconds,

which is how long it took

for me to notice the stain

bleeding through.

Oil on asphalt,

dark and deliberate,

visible even under white,

even under the temporary

disguise of winter.

Snow covered the cigarette butts

and the crushed can

and the wrapper that's been there since September,

but you could still see their shapes

underneath,

could still know

what was hidden.

I watched people arriving,

shaking snow off their coats,

looking at the lot

like it was suddenly worth looking at,

like beauty had visited

and made things clean.

But beauty is just a cover,

just a temporary thing

that falls from the sky

and makes you forget

what's underneath.

The stain was still there.

The trash was still there.

The lot was still a lot,

still cracked,

still dark,

still the same place it was

yesterday.

The snow will melt.

It will expose everything again.

And we'll all remember

that nothing here

was ever actually clean.