Two tails

Tonight might be a good night to go out, set up the spotting scope, and look for Comet Lulin. I wonder which of its two tails I'd wag my finger at. I can already see the yellow dust tail on the left, hanging there like a coyote's in a snow-covered stubble field as it waits for a vole to move beneath its paws. And I can already see my breath surrounding the scope as I look at the glowing blue ion tail on the right, a tail that reminds me of another breath. The breath of a little girl. A little girl hiding inside a fort, waiting to pelt the enemy with snowballs. My aim was good. Even then. Even then I was always right. Always pointing away from the sun.

Is it getting any juice?

That new I-shaped plug on the end of my block heater cord sure hurts--his 'n hurts--where it dangles in the cold. I need a remedy, a meddler in this pressure, Old English fur, fur a reason. I need a big side and a little side.

A Bobcat, hired to clear snow, bent the powerpost for suites 24, 25, and 26. Three days later the landlord, who in summer drives from the back door of the building to the dumpster in his riding mower, showed me new bolts in the post. I've edited this post, he said. Go upstairs and turn on.

New plug-head (yellow), old cold. I ape my body's winter.