it was the summer

he came downstairs form the carriage house
to see everyone in the backyard, gathered around
everything they had ever lost
which they had made into a bonfire
to teach some lessons.

nearby, the president was heard to say
things were afoot in soviet russia,
which is what we would call indisputable.

someone had just come back from nepal
where, he told us, they were constructing
artificial glaciers
to help with irrigation.
we thought of cranes hoisting hand-made blocks of ice
carrying, on occasion, various things lying around the house
or wherever it was that they’d gotten the ice.
of sherpas standing around atop the glacier,
guiding the ice home,
staying with the blocks, making them comfortable.

could this be done for us, mr. president?
we all wanted to know.

he thought for a moment, behind his sunglasses
which reflected the fire

we said
can things be done for us?

he looked into all of our hearts and said
keep your distance
keep serious.
look, coming up 76,
a convertible.

and he was right.