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Whose woods these are I’ll admit I knew
when we paused in my old worn Subaru
and turned engine off but left headlights lit
and shot a hawk before she flew.
We put away our Canon SX160’s and then
attempted to start the car again, but
I heard only a diminishing grind and cough
and realized I was stranded with my friend.
If we’d come on horseback, we’d done just fine,
if we’d had blanket, sandwich, jug of wine.
If, if, if. Oh, yes, what if.
Over a discharged battery little point in crying.
That we were rescued requires no great leap
of deduction nor any rumination deep.
Let’s call this a poem. I’m going to sleep.
This is all you’re getting. I’m going to sleep.
♦
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