The Ploughman's Launch

Early this morning, long after the final flake of snow found its resting place, truckdrivers passed by my house on May Street with their blades down, plowing the air, doubtless contemplating their bottom lines. As the planet warms, what will these worthies do? Perhaps head toward the coast and plow the rising waters. I don't know. I do know that if they had kept their blades up, not only would they have plowed just as much snow, but I would have slept soundly enough never to have observed the pristine street swept repeatedly of invisible precipitation.