Stovepipe

A snowy day, and an old family mule shed.

My tongue tip aches

  From smoking cob;

And pipe leaf baked

  An hour ago.

I smell of smoke

  a pine or ash;

The wood stove stoked

  To thaw my bones.

The steams that fly,

  A sacrifice to winds,

And zephyrs high

  Above a tin roof.

Odd to see it,

  Snow balanced, a post;

A three inch fence to sit,

  Crouching and aloof.