By David Thoreen

Keep your line advancing north to south and east to west,
and that’s why you shut the overhead door against dust kicking up;
here’s how you light a grill and how to brush the grate

when it’s hot enough; and here’s how you fish an ice cube
from your drink and toss it on the sizzle and laugh;
and here’s how you sear the steaks two minutes each side at four-fifty

and how to pour a beer so it’s not all foam; here’s how you put two bottles
in the freezer to chill them quick; here’s how you install storm windows
in the fall; here’s how to tie a necktie in what they call a double Windsor;

and here’s how to pour a glass of wine so it doesn’t run down and stain
your mother’s good tablecloth; and here’s how you say a blessing
at Thanksgiving and how you tell Uncle Chuck to pump the brakes;

and here’s how you make an Old Fashioned by muddling sugar and bitters
in a short glass called a tumbler and add this much bourbon and then the ice,
stirring like you’re trying to decide whether to vote Republican or Republican—

and don’t forget the maraschino cherry; and here’s how after dinner
we’ll have dessert and football, if not necessarily in that order;
here’s how you cut a pie in slices the way your mother likes;

and here’s how you mix another one, and that’s how you get a first down;
and here’s how you wield a plunger; and here’s how you know it’s time
to call in the big guns; and here’s how you balance a checkbook;

and here’s how you polish dress shoes and drive to church in a snowstorm;
here’s how you shovel your walk and then your neighbor’s walk
because the lucky S.O.B.’s in Florida; and here’s how you light a fire

when the chimney’s cold and won’t draw; and here’s how you tell Uncle Chuck
he’s made his bed and now must lie in it; and here’s how you mix gin
and dry vermouth in a cocktail shaker and—no, you need a martini glass

for this; and here’s how you mix gin and lime juice and ribbons of cucumber
with ice in the cocktail shaker and strain it into a tumbler with fresh ice
before you top it with three ounces of tonic and stir like a man contemplating

the difference between sin and failure; and here’s how you burn rubber
if it’s a rental; and here’s how to freshen a lady’s drink; and here’s
a chart so you’ll remember which glass to use; and here’s how you prep

a surface for painting; and here’s how to get paint out of the can and onto the wall;
and here’s how you unbalance a checkbook; and here’s to God above
and save the middleman; and here’s how you change the sparkplugs

in a Ford; and here’s when you better start looking out for number one;
and here’s how you take a thermos to work; and here’s how you squeegee
a windshield; and that’s what happens when you fly too close to the curb,

and here’s how to change a tire; and here’s how to muddle your bitters;
and here’s how to take two tablets of Alka-Seltzer before work;
and here’s how to unwind after work; and here’s how to unwind some more;

and here’s how to slowly simmer and keep the lid on till there’s no
hiding that you’re a pot of boiling water; and here’s how you lie in bed
wondering why you didn’t make it.

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David Thoreen’s recent poems have appeared in or are forthcoming from Verse Daily, The American Journal of Poetry, Atlanta Review, Innisfree Poetry Journal, Kestrel, The Midwest Quarterly, New Letters, Pittsburgh Quarterly, Presence: A Journal of Catholic Poetry, and Seneca Review. He teaches writing and literature at Assumption University in Worcester, Massachusetts.