Three Poems

The weathermen said, 'Be brave.'
He had no choice, luscious

Though the North Pole was,
All that unveined marble

Like the ruins of Michaelangelo's
Studio. If he wanted

The ice-berg he should
Have had it, hollowed it,

Floated south on his knees
And into the record books,

Until his cold church
Thawed off Nova Scotia.

It didn't happen like that.
First, he lost confidence

In his teeth. They hurt
...