Archive
03/13/12 - (3)
Three Men, Three Trucks, and One Dog
Three men, three trucks, and one dog Hover around holes drilled in the eighteen-inch-thick ice, Which, until two days ago, were covered by shacks, Inside which these same three men, holding the same three poles, Fished for walleyes, pikes, perches, and smallmouth bass. But now, the pulsating sun, intent on shriveling the lake's crust, Has these avid fishermen slightly on edge. They know that with one more week of this intense heat, They'll not be able to drive their pickups out there, Won't dare, let alone be able to reach the lake's middle, For the gap having opened too wide, between shore and ice, Now receding, in places, not inches but feet, by the day. Indeed, when I look up from the script covering my notebook page, Now as etched, streaked, and crosshatched as the ice's surface, Those three men, three trucks, and one dog are gone. But when I focus on the paper again, The whole tableau is frozen not only in time but in timelessness.
03/13/12 - (3)
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