Blessed are we
that the PFD
bought a different kind of heat.
The check we'd float
To the wood stove folk
Would warm our old cold feet.
The set-up fee
We'd NOW agree
Would have been a bargain;
For the how-to note
And the "guide" they wrote
Was foreign techie jargon.
But once installed,
The clan all called.
We stood there just admiring.
'Til soon the view
Most tiresome grew,
No fuelwood for the firing.
A mission launched,
The bold and paunched,
Four trucks, one saw, and beer.
When daylight waned
No swill remained
But one green cord came here.
Now Box-mart sells
A log that smells
Of wax, and multi colored!
Quick-stores
Offer two logs for
Five bucks to heat-starved dullards.
With winter nigh
We called the guy
On craigslist hawking wood.
No extra fee
For delivery,
And charged twice what he should.
Splitting down
To quarter rounds,
Each night my axe gets action.
We learned the art
Of the lumber cart
Our grippers strapped for traction.
The carpet's marked
With litter bark
Our walls are ashy gray.
We clean the grate
And tolerate
The noisy fan all day.
But, as we settle
Near warm metal
Comfy flicker in the glass,
We'll belabor
To our neighbors
How much we've saved on gas!
3 comments:
Oh you're clever! :) Ode to a PFD--
I can just see all of you zonked out in front of the stove! I miss you. :)
We all have talents. Zonking is an art form here.
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