Worst Storm Since ’47


One, Mr. Kane
Was found barefoot
In the worst snow since ’47.
He was clutching a newspaper,
That which he had risked his life for
By walking the three miles to the store
Just so he could check out the results of betting and investing.

He labored in the cold winds
Pushing through the deep snow
That shut down the five boroughs
In a way that even the most fit
Could not have endured.
He had to know, though,
Had Brauilio won and Raytheon gained.

He would never know
Because at fifty three his life would end
In a bank of snow.
After disorientation from the cold
Smacked his poor perception down,
With only one mile to go, and after losing his shoes,
He collapsed while sitting on a little profit.

Mr. Baeza had ridden well
Tearing around the Tropical Park in Coral Gables
To three wins, a second, a third, and a sixth;
A handsome payday for Mr. Kane.
Raytheon was up one and three eighths,
Nearing the sell line.
It had been a good and bad day for Mr. Kane.