How I Spend My Lunch Breaks

I wrote a poem today. On a napkin. I wrote a napkin poem. Didn't I tell you?

In all honesty, I'd been meaning to write this since New Year's Day, and unfortunately, the feelings I was trying to evoke weren't as strong as they were at the time. I don't know quite how I feel about this poem. A problem I've been encountering in my poetry is trying to write not about myself, not from my own point of view, while still keeping the same emotional rawness that's in my "confessional" poetry. What do you think? Did I achieve that?

The poem doesn't have a title yet.

New Year's Day and the puddles on the sidewalks
used to be piles of white snow
that fell last week.

All the stores are closed while their owners
celebrate the new year that settles over them
like a hazy new sun;
doorknobs refuse to turn under my clumsy, gloved hands.
The streets still look the same.

Next to the cardboard box too small
to house the man sitting in front of it
a pile of confetti sports a slushy boot print,
a requiem for a moment of giddy joy
we are too hungover to remember.