The Generator's

rumble can be as noxious
as a growling chain saw
or the grumbling of a back hoe.
But when the paper birches,
weighed down by ice, genuflect
shearing power lines off their poles,
its engine soothes like the purring
of a tabby cat or a grandmother
humming along with her
clicking knitting needles

Like a hibernating bear, the generator
lies dormant in back of the garage,
its flat top a bed for pine needles,
and broken branches. When called upon,
it awakens and sputters before letting
loose with an incessant full-throated roar.

In time, we tune out, "that infernal noise."
in return for the blessings of heat,
light, hot water, and toilets that flush.

As long as the propane will last,
let it drone on chanting its
mantra ... all is well, all is well, while
I curl up in my afghan to read my book.