Treasure Island

James Lee Jobe


It's mid-winter and the sunrise knows it, and wakes me
with a shudder; I'm just a man.

For 5 cold mornings in a row, the beautiful pheasant
has come to our patio to steal some of the dry catfood,
sometimes right in front of my cat.

The house is still, and I enjoy the Sunday newspaper
with strong, dark coffee; the smell of it dances

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