the streets tonite are
this cold: harder and
to plan ahead). i've
people die weather
not it's rain, sun, or
from the living room and your worn patch of couch,
and now as my mug, my egg-shaped mug
so in the yellowgrey of early morning, in the winter-furnace hum,
minutes pass. snow falls, my shoulders ache in anticipation.
plan is the body
plan is. the body
plan. is the body
These poems are reprinted from A Ruckus of Awkward Stacking (Insomniac Press: Toronto, 2000).
matt robinson, a native of Halifax, NS (wet snow, rain: that sort of thing) now living in Fredericton, NB (right in the middle of the snow belt: snow into May sometimes, take this year, for instance), is a doctoral student at UNB. His first collection, A Ruckus of Awkward Stacking (Insomniac, 2000), was short-listed for the Gerald Lampert Memorial and ReLit Poetry Awards. His writing has appeared on radio and television, in anthologies, and in numerous Canadian, American, British, and Australian publications. robinson is on the editorial board of The Fiddlehead and Kaleidoscope, and grew up playing ice hockey in cold rinks and on frozen ponds down the street. A Residence Don at UNB's McLeod House, he introduces students from around the world to the wonders of snow football on mid-December Sunday afternoons. how we play at it: a list, his second collection, is forthcoming from ECW Press this Fall.