Snow fell in the night.
At five-fifteen I woke to a bluish
     mounded softness where
the Honda was. Cat fed and coffee made,
     I broomed snow off the car
and drove to the Kearsarge Mini-Mart
     before Amy opened
to yank my Globe out of the bundle.
     Back, I set my cup of coffee
beside Jane, still half-asleep,
     murmuring stuporous
thanks in the aquamarine morning.
     Then I sat in my blue chair
with blueberry bagels and strong
     black coffee reading news,
the obits, the comics, and the sports.
     Carrying my cup twenty feet,
I sat myself at the desk
     for this day’s lifelong
engagement with the one task and desire.

This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 13 Number 5, on page 50
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