Not to say you want something

for nothing, but maybe something

extra after your morning rounds

for scrap lumber up and down

the autumn streets on garbage

day. You’ll tell any citizens

you meet, out walking their dogs

or leaving for work: “This is going

into our woodstove.”

After the hatch-back is loaded

you sit in a café while the barista sets

the timer for your French press.

She’ll even bring it out to regulars

at their tables. There’ll be a second cup

left in the press for tomorrow–thick

syrup in the bottom you can pour

into your own travel-sipper, like fresh

coals left under the ashes.