Front Porch Review
A literary magazine for the young at heart and mind

Outside for obligatory photographs:
ubiquitous head-shot, profile,
three-quarter profile, bust.
I stand between the battered, rusty
plow, lost in a stand of spruce,
and the house’s winter windows,
nearly buried by blizzard. I squint
and I will be squinting forever
standing, frozen by the shutters.

When I see myself, inside, later,
at first only pixels, then paper thin,
I am several hundred pounds of meat
none of it lean, leaning on a cane,
a lame spectacle trapped by
reflex and bifocality, with snow
at the temple of my thinning hair.

Previously published in Crescent Moon Journal / Desert Moon Review, February 2006.

By Ron. Lavalette

Ron. Lavalette is a poet living in the very northeastern corner of Vermont. From his front porch, he could easily throw a stone into Canada but has learned, from bitter experience with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, that doing so is considered a hostile action. He has been widely published and anthologized in both print and pixel forms.  A reasonable sample of his published work can be found at Eggs Over Tokyo. Like most folks with an abundance of time on their hands, Ron. blogs; and because he likes to keep things eggish, he calls his blog Scrambled, Not Fried. He's not quite dead yet. His email address: