ICE
I LOVE A GOOD ICE STORM LET ME COUNT THE WAYS
Poet’s lumbersexual beau insisted on shovelling snow on the
walks adjacent to at least 3 neighbours homes Even the one
who didn’t lift a finger last pellet-storm as poet lay forlorn and
twitching after lifting a Poinsettia
Bushwhacker’s winterzealotry appears disloyal but then he does
hail from 179 Royal Ave. Winnipeg MAN where real men eat squirrels
with bare hands if necessary
Today poetsicle dreams of Inn at rented lake where poetry flows like
manna from Heaven +the fine last lines you have come to demand fall
from this pen liked greased hogs at the rodeo
However at this hour: what is bizarre what is oblique the revelation obtuse
+twisted That which grows out of the poem by itself (you should live so long!)
and all littlemisscan’tbewrong poet has to do is sit there and catch it escaping
__
Almost Spring 2016
songanddancegirl 