An old life in  General   

Snow fell in the night.
At five-fifteen I woke to a bluish
mounded softness where
the Honda was. Cat fed and coffee made,
I broomed snow off the car
and drove to the Kearsarge Mini-Mart
before Amy opened
to yank my Globe out of the bundle.
Back, I set my cup of coffee
beside Jane, still half-asleep,
murmuring stuporous
thanks in the aquamarine morning.
Then I sat in my blue chair
with blueberry bagels and strong
black coffee reading news,
the obits, the comics, and the sports.
Carrying my cup twenty feet,
I sat myself at the desk
for this day's lifelong
engagement with the one task and desire.

By Donald Hall

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Other poems by Donald Hall:

• A Poet at Twenty
• Affirmation
• An old life
• Christmas party at the South Danbury Church
• Distressed Haiku
• Je Suis une table
• Mount Kearsarge Shines
• Name of Horses
• Sudden Things
• The Alligator Bride
• The Man In The Dead Machine
• Villanelle
• White Apples
• Wolf Knife