The Lumberjack
—a poem for those who split logs and lies
He wakes before the dawn can creep,
Where frost bites hard and silence’s deep.
A flask half full, a fire not yet—
The woods remember what men forget.
He pours his soul in measured draught:
Yukon Jack, both sweet and daft.
A splash of cider, warm and tart,
Like biting truth from nature’s heart.
A kiss of maple, rich and slow,
From trees that bled in lines of snow.
He stirs with hands that carved through time,
Still sticky from some ancient crime.
An apple slice, a fragrant ring—
A halo for a brutish thing.
He sips, he nods, the forest bends.
No words. Just trees. And bitter ends.
📜 The Lumberjack – The Recipe
- 2 oz Yukon Jack
- 1 oz Apple Cider
- .25 oz Maple Syrup
- Garnish: Fresh Apple Slice
Instructions:
Stir gently over ice in a rocks glass.
Garnish with an apple slice, preferably stolen from a bear’s picnic.
Best consumed beside fire, axe, or inner reckoning.
For extra authenticity, drink it flannel-clad, with woodsmoke in your beard and existentialism in your gut.