You've turned a historically walk-able city into a playground of historic proportions. The imprint of Timberland and LL Bean boots leave traces of rugged New England everywhere, evidence of survival and even adventurous fun. On top of a blue mailbox someone had ascended, then forgotten a yellow mitten in their determination to stick a Celtics flag on top of it. The flag drooped its green shamrock pride in the stillness of the seven degree evening, but it remained to say that even in the event of Rondo's torn ACL we were a city that had tradition and experience behind us, we were a city that would come out of this turn of events victorious.
Cars poked their noses just barely high enough over the mounds, and when headlights are turned on they look like slivers of crocodile eyes narrowing in on prey. I might be caught in the scope of yellowed light just a few yards down the street, but in the dark my gray and silver chair might be mistaken for the base of a traffic light, or just someone's empty trash barrel sitting at the end of their driveway. The cold was sure starting to make me feel that way.

I rocked to and fro in my seat, trying to throw my weight while pressing the joystick forward and back as I listened to the whir of my tires spin. It was like the pathetic sounds of my friend's cat when it fights against a bath, and finally it is submerged in the water anyway looking even more pathetic. I turned on the flashlight that is attached to my keychain, it is LED and even for all its lifetime battery guarantee I can only see so much. It is guaranteed not so much different from what I saw only three minutes ago.
This is what I see: I see that I have somehow wandered into the cupped palm of your hand, somehow not thinking or not believing that the roughly two feet wide opening in your closed fingers would be a trap. The palm of your hand is grimy with grooves from the soles of people who I imagine just followed the footprints of others who had gone before them. They saw that there were no lost boots or shoes in those foot steps, and that was enough for them to continue forward; and then one leg probably swung over, one glove reached out for stability on the street lamp, and then the other leg swung over the knee-high terrain. A small step for mankind but what may have felt like a huge leap for that individual, then they were out of your grasp.

I also saw their foot prints and assumed the same. Except somehow I forgot that the precarious step over your pinky and ring finger were not things that I would do. But in my mind they looked like I could just crush them, mow them down and roll through. In my mind the soft cells of your snowflakes had not already hardened into stalagmites, the ones that formed deep inside of caves and sprout like prehistoric daggers. They look like dinosaur teeth that had become loose and then fallen out, and that is where the dinosaur tooth fairy left them rooted to the ground. That is what the palm of your hand is surrounded by, various shapes of these things that look like bowling pins and if only I could make a massive snowball and just roll them all down - strike!
After I am freed from your grasp (and surely eventually I will be), there will be four more grooves added to the mosaic of prints and patterns. The lines of your palms criss crossing and I wonder what a fortune teller would tell you --
your future is marked by many cold hard falls. Do not expect to warm up to any one permanent place. You are a fleeting spirit. You are someone who will be played with and despised, only the insane will ever love you. 
These are the useless thoughts that go through my mind in a useless moment where the four grooves from my wheels have by now crunched and gnawed a few more inches downwards. I figured I'd best stop spinning my wheels deeper into your skin, so that whoever comes around to offer assistance will not have as challenging a weight to push or pull out.

Not long after a gaggle of giggling co-eds came by. They are Alpha Beta Gold-Diggas or whatever have you, but definitely Alpha Inebriated for sure and one breaks from the pack and approaches me. She stands just outside your ring and calls in,
"Hey do you need help?"
"Uhh yeah.." Not really thinking if my next words would get me any more free or more entangled.
"Which way are you trying to go?" She asked as leggings and booties entered.
"That way --" I jerked my thumb in any direction that was not inwards and she was not paying attention, her hair had fallen in her face and now her friends stood on the threshold of your grasp. But to be kind I aimed my flashlight towards her feet and near my wheels.
"Okay so should I push or pull you" her hands fumbled to find where mittens with pom poms might get a grip on my chair. I gestured at one of your chubby fingers instead,
"Actually I think if you just knocked that block of snow out of the way I should be good.." She turned to see where I'd directed my flashlight. When her friends saw a clearer objective the rest of the squad clambered in and began kicking away.

Blocs of ice and snow flew every which way until what was once your closed fist became flattened and like the terrain of the moon. Craters here and there, traces of life or maybe of a life escaped existed in its place.
"Hey thanks a lot, have a safe night" my wheels spun and I went on by.

So, Snow Banks of the city, you might be able to ensnare cars and trap school kids at home but you won't get me!

With loads of salt, shovels, & sunshine.. unforgivingly yours,
Sandy