Woodchucks

We don’t have any palm trees round here

Or any cacti

Don’t do too much sunbathing neither (damn clouds)

But we do have a few prickly folks

We got a lot a guns

But we don’t tend to shoot our neighbors

Or little kids

Most people like that

We do, however, bag a buck once in a blue moon

If we don’t drink too much

People from down below

Some of em living up here now

Thinks we talk funny

Coz we put an “a” wherez an “r” supposed to be

And an “r” wherez an “a” supposed to be

Maybe it’s them from down below that talks funny

Seems about right, ayuh!

Theyz call us woodchucks, bumpkins, hayseed, hicks, backwater and stuff

Even had one of them folks

Ask me if I was one of them cowhampshire types

But theyz surprised when we talk about how much we love

Multivariant calc. or the back story of Shay’s Rebellion

Then they ask whoz Shay? What?

Or this one always gets em, how the Bard hit a grand slam with the “Tempest”

It’s funny coz most of em ain’t read the Bard

What kinda a schooling did ya go to any wayz?

What’s weird is many of them down below types

Wanna be woodchucks like us now

They dress in flannel, work a chainsaw, contra dance, and plant some veggies

But us woodchucks gotta draw the line somewherez

And say with no intent of malice (we use big words up here)

“Sorry”, if ya wanna be a real woodchuck

Yur mom and yur dad gotta have ya here

It’s kinda a New Hampsha thing! Ayuh!

STEPHEN SERAICHICK

Keene

Sliding Time

Prisms of light fell through the night

Decorated each tree with its jewels.

Every branch, every twig, none too small or too big,

All were dressed like a king on his stool.

The sun came to admire, he hoped to inspire

Some smiles from the people below.

He glowed with the joy of watching a boy

Who now looked from his sled to the snow.

The boy picked up his sled, he’d left bracing the shed

And threw himself flat on its top.

He lowered his head, down the steep hill he sped

He’s an astronaut, a pilot, a cop!

The joy of a boy with a sled on a hill

Recall our own slides long ago.

Freezing ears, hands and faces, trudging back to the places

We started from – thanks to the snow.

ELIZABETH D. BEMIS ZINN

Spofford