He found an old couch,
and suspended it from the rafters
of his sugar house,
a genie on his magic carpet
stirring sap with a long handled spoon.
– Stacia Tolman
Jeff came home from, been there, business at the bank,
dressed up, tie, good shiny shoes.
Driving by the pond,
he saw steam from Hollis’s sugar shack.
Thought, I’ll go up and hassle him,
maybe get a glass of cider.
No boots just his good shoes on, he slogged up the snowshoe trail
to the sugar house in the woods. Inside he could see
Hollis through the steam, stirring the syrup,
wooden spoon in one hand,
glass of cider in the other.
Hello Jeff he says, help yourself.
Jeff sat down in front of the fire to dry his shoes.
He promptly fell asleep.
An hour later Hollis nudged him awake.
Said Shutting down here, cocktail hour approacheth.
A pail of blackstrap syrup in each hand, he said
Get on the back of these snowshoes. When I count three,
we’ll start together, right foot first. Jeff goes left first
and down they went buckets and all. Sat there scooping up handfuls
of syrup, eating it before the snow took it all.
Hollis said, Wish I could have been a bird in a tree watching that.
– Dudley Laufman
© 2008
jbf@fergus.com
Revised 3/27/2008