27 May 2025
A Ron Padgett poem reproduced here from his new book Pink Dust, which I picked up recently and have been carrying around with me everywhere. What a gift. I want it to be part of my conversation forever. It appears this poem is untitled, at least in the printed context. I'm going to type it line by line:
I shovel a path from the porch to the truck and another around the house to the back door, stopping to see if I'm one of those geezers who have heart attacks while shoveling snow, and when I'm finished I'm not. Look at all that snow out there going down the hill as far as the eye can see.