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Poems


Good Idea

Part of the bedtime ritual for me, in winter,

is to go out and get a couple of big chunks

to set on the hearth to dry out well,

tomorrow night’s bedtime logs, all-nighters,

or at least far into it,

for the fire to transform

to ashes by morning.

Tonight I forgot, so there I was

comfortable in bed in my non-existent pajamas,

and I remembered that I’d forgotten,

and I thought about how cold it was out there

in the silent night, below zero,

out on the porch where the wood rack sits.

But I decided to do it, get up and walk out

(I have no bathrobe),

and I grabbed two thick logs

and knocked off the powder of snow

that had blown in under the porch roof,

and I stood there naked and barefoot

on the snowy deck, whoo!—

and carried them inside.

It was a good idea, really cold, dark, and brief.



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