Axial Tilt

How quickly warmth departs this cozy world
When Sol’s dim candle gutters near the south
Horizon, soon to be a smoking wick
Around which numb extremities are curled,
A woeful downgrade from a hand-to-mouth
Existence—tragedy for those too sick

Or weak to build a proper fire, no doubt.
To blame divinities is only human,
If blame and prayer yield similar results
And light is something one can’t do without
For half a year or so.  A local numen
Is not responsible for how adults

Adapt to circumstances that are global.
Down under, where the seasons are reversed,
No land is such a perfect balmy Eden
That hearts are kind and every thought is noble:
Australians scoff, when summer’s at its worst,
At rates of suicide in northern Sweden.


C.B. Anderson was the longtime gardener for the PBS television series, The Victory Garden. Over the past eight years, hundreds of his poems have appeared in scores of print and electronic journals out of North America, Great Britain, Ireland, Australia and India. He is inordinately fond of single malt Scotch whisky.