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.