:
WISHFUL THINKING
Carbon is not our only bane.
More dangerous is potent methane
Rising from every cattle herd,
From every landfill undeterred
And melting permafrost up north:
In cumulus clouds it billows forth.
Four hundred thousand Hiroshimas
Equal one day of noxious gases.
Oh for a breath of Eden’s clear
Unpolluted ambient air,
Oceans of fat unfettered fish,
Springs of water pure and fresh,
Verdant fields immune to drought
And temperate zephyrs from the south.
ON A FRIGID MORNING
They hang from the eaves like spikes
The fingernails of old man winter,
Translucent tapered icicles,
A warning to stay inside.
A blast of Arctic air
Has caged us in our rooms
Hoping the grid won’t fail,
Fearful of roadside breakdowns.
Some say our end is fire
But we fear more the ice.
We know how to deal with desire:
Hypothermia’s not so nice
Though if one must really go
There are worse conveyors than snow.
MELTDOWN
This morning we woke to a black and white world:
Cars and rooftops, walks and road
Frosted in white. Every deciduous
Twig and branch, every needled bough
Of pine and hemlock coated in snow
Which the sunset last night gave a rosy glow.
Midmorning the drops began to fall.
Drooping pines again stood tall.
Our windows were streaked with watery streams.
Sunstruck icicles softened and gleamed.
By noon the parking lot was bare.
Winter was retreating here.
We can’t yet call it an early spring:
Let’s see what next week’s weather will bring.
THE WINTER THAT WASN’T
On February first the wind
Leapt up in my face and opened
My jacket, which I did not mind
So balmy and soft was the air.
It felt like the first day of March
Roaring in, dissolving the snow,
Summoning vultures whose harsh
Cries raised my eyes to the sky.
And so they continue, these warm
Days with cold nights which cause
Our maple tree owners alarm
Lest their syrup season founder.
Behind us the two warmest years
On record and now a foreshortened
Winter: it surely appears
Our New England climate has altered.