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I Always Wake (Grandfather’s story about 1933)

by Joseph Milosch

I always wake
before my wife.
In the morning
I reignite
the coals in our
wood burning range.

Galoshes stored
beneath the sink.
I slide them over
my Buster Browns.

From pegs behind
the kitchen door,
I remove my red,
plaid, hunting cap
and winter coat.

Taking the broom,
I sweep the steps
and walk until
the snow is pushed
over the curb.

“Someday, I will
purchase a steel
shovel with a
handle of pine.”

On the hood of
the landlord’s car,
a golden ram
has a clump of
snow on its back.

The street smelling
of Saginaw
remains silent.
While a moment
at a time, snow
begins to fall.

Posted in Poetry

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