He's prolific.
It's also the birthday of Bill Holm (1943), poet, essayist, humorist, composer. He grew up in the tiny farming town of Minneota, Minnesota. He spent considerable time in Iceland and in China, teaching and writing and having a fine time.
I have most of his published work on the bookshelf near the bed. His stuff is fresh and insightful and fun.
This poem is from his collection "Box Elder Bug Variations."
MINNESOTA WINTERS ARE DIFFICULT FOR
CREATURES WHOSE WEIGHT CANNOT BE
MEASURED IN STONES
A box elder bug surprised out
in west wind at forty below
rode swirling snow
clean out of Minnesota,
wound up embalmed in
an ice cube in Pennsylvania,
scared hell out of a lady
who found red stripes in her gin
and tonic, thought she'd seen
the face of God.
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