Larry Schug


Even in the heat of summer,
when mosquitos and gnats
swarm around my woodsman’s cap,
the coldest days of winter lurk.
Like a beaver caching tender branches
underwater outside its lodge,
I stack neat rows of canned sunshine,
stored in solid oak,
having found security and self-esteem
in a large pile of firewood, cut, split, stacked,
while the buck-toothed, flat-tailed logger and I
laugh in the face of Jack Frost.

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The views and opinions expressed throughout belong to the individual artists and may or may not coincide with those of the other artists (or editors) represented within the magazine. Hobo Camp Review supports a free-for-all atmosphere of artistic expression, so enjoy the poetry, fiction, opinions, and artwork within, read with an open mind, and comment wisely. Thanks for stopping by the Camp!