Deciding Who Has the Right of Way

- on the homestead road in Soldotna, Alaska

Things happen here in this part of the year

To the folks who teach in our school.

The Kenai trails have their secret tales

That you may not think too cool.

The northern lights have seen queer sights,

But one I did not embrace

Was that dawn when I strode down the homestead road

And that moose challenged me to a race.

At forty below, things got a bit slow:

The water, the people, the cars.

It wasn’t enough, to be made of tough stuff

Or even to frequent the bars.

Three weeks of that cold, and the old-timers told

Of the Kenai adventures they’d had:

Being lost in deep snow, when the winds did blow,

Sometimes it was pretty bad.

I thought I was snug, as snug as a bug

In my home by the Kenai there,

Till a real cold morn at the crack of dawn

It seemed that life was not fair.

Well water came in, through pipes really thin.

That water, though cold, never froze.

But would it drain out? There soon was no doubt-

The drain pipes were totally closed.

Forget about cost, when you have permafrost

A plumber is out of the question.

You watch and you listen, you’re prayin’ and wishin’

For break-up to cure the congestion.

My only solution for morning ablutions

Was to choose which neighbor to visit.

Twas not mine to squawk, but to take the long walk

And perhaps revisit, revisit.

I paid a price, just walking on ice

On the path I had to traverse.

With three feet of snow on both sides of that road

I believed things wouldn’t get worse.

But then came one dawn...staring at me head-on

Were two moose, in the field to my right.

At that point I surmised, they were cows by their size.

Which normally causes no fright.

So I strolled on by, under baleful eye

And soon they paid me no mind.

With my silent pleading, they’d returned to their feeding,

And I left them safely behind.

‘Twas a whole different story, and one without glory,

On return, my mistake brought foreboding.

They were MOTHER and CHILD, and things quickly turned wild.

Free passage for me was eroding.

Mama Moose had moved left, thought her "baby" bereft,

And would not allow me between them.

Hackles up and head down, she came on with a frown,

Half a ton, with her mind set on mayhem.

With only two feet, how could I compete

On that ice, with her four feet and height?

Her long legs eased through snow, left me no place to go,

But to race back to Margie’s in fright.

I turned on a dime, on that ice to make time.

I slipped and I slid in my haste.

I was leaving a trial, as my arms they did flail,

Losing towels, hairbrush, and tooth paste.

On that road we both slipped, on that road we both tripped,

But I made it with seconds to spare.

Then that moose stood guard at the edge of the yard.

No way could I get out of there.

At last Uncle John, in his car came along.

He saw the plight I was in,

Pulled his car to the step, and from there I leapt,

Though that moose tried to chase me back in.

I dashed by on one side, while to catch me she tried.

As we circled the car in the drive.

I jumped in one door, before she could score,

Glad once more to be safe and alive.

The northern lights have seen queer sights,

But that one was never retraced.

Though more dawns I strode down the homestead road.

That moose and I no more raced.

Can you pick up from the rhythm and rhyme scheme, the poem I based this rhythm and rhyme on? A few lines are repeated and the original was also a tale of the north, though perhaps not as factual.