Thursday, February 12, 2015

LOG CABIN OF THE FUTURE

Honest-
ly Abraham—I am
no hero;

this—is just how it all
works 
in the morning:

I twist a dial 
that lights the fire 
that mechanically requites
the warmth of my family;

followed—thickly
by a commonplace

trickle—
of exotic banana-
smell and a quick little

conviviality—actuated by love
to be sure,

but compartmentalized 
faithfully,
and lubed-

up justly
and liberally—with automatic easycream,

easysugar coffee—and, 
as long as we can 

spare it—
with a dash 

from that old 
box of yours 

called—malice 
toward none.

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