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.

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