Yosemite is a small hole
in a the Sierra granite.
and I’ve got a job in the pot room
that works for a while.
I’ve been washing pans at night,
then writing poems and small pieces
about a low winter valley
while the snows are falling.
My employers are large
and impersonal, which is fine with me;
because I borrowed some tools
to write chef Mike a poem
asking for more hours.
But I hit the wrong button
on an office printer
sending it out to every office
the Delaware corporation has, except his.
But I’ve got better equipment now.
So thank you for the Christmas money
and lunch with Uncle Mike …