by Noah C. Renn
Some people still drive wedges,
chop wood, incinerate
for their own warmth.
Those on sallow roads,
jingling like chains or pocket change
with nothing else
in the back of their minds
ever since.
These logs,
still burn in homes
with sooted caves.
Their change, now a keyboard clicking,
not like it used to be.
We have come so far.
We can see color over the radio
and ourselves on screens.
Perhaps, when we’re done with trees,
and have abandoned our typing skills,
we’ll all have huddled together,
drawn inward,
by some fancy new central heat.
Noah C. Renn is a student of English and Philosophy at Old Dominion University. He has had his poetry published in volumes 3 & 4 of Channel Marker and has had non-fiction published in Cezanne's Carrot where he won the editor's prize.