Plow

I hear the familiar
growl of steel against 
street beneath my window 
it reminds me of 
irritating thoughts which remain 
scratching and clawing attention 
the plow rumbles relentlessly 
like what I’d imagine 
bad decisions would do 
or even an avalanche 
of stone cold regret 
plows have a purpose 
I suppose clearing way
from things done before 
much like I imagine 
forgiving and forgetting do