Diesel Heat

Diesel Heat
By William Hay

There is candlelight.
Propane heat and electric heat.
The cat has curled up beneath the
Warm Red glow of the heat lamp.
I am huddled under comforter
Considering turning on the diesel heater
A truly big gun against winter rainforest drafts
In this now less insulated shell of a boat.
Or I am older. Winters aboard not remembered
As such or spoiled by shorts and tropical suns
Or worse missing the warmth of other bodies
Women and dogs who shared this winter space

Earlier the cat ventured out on the deck
Only to yowl loudly to be let in again
Returning to the heavenly halo
Of Her heat lamp.
Half Saimese calico talker her yowling
Comments summed up my thoughts
On this November winter night.
Yowl.
But like my grandfather
Who lived in the snowy Manitoba north
And resisted lighting the big stove
To save as was the Scottish way,
And otherwise to deny the inevitable arrival
Of winter too soon and likely to stay too long.
I remember him teaching me to milk cows in spring.
Milk squirting in my face,
On the way to summer laughter.
I would my dad another winter and then some.
Mother gone too early these past few years.
Now there was diesel heat and then some.