This summer at DCMF my friend J——- broke into the basement of a historical building in Dawson. He found a lot of garbage, and a gold rush era shovel, and this previously unpublished poem, signed Robert W. Service! Because of the illegal nature of the find, this blog has the  exclusive scoop! Critics will no doubt soon be cranking out papers about Service’s new rhyme-free style, but here at Cat Dragged In, we can just enjoy this poem for what it is: a heartfelt farewell to the Yukon.

Goodbye Yukon

You wild girls running cold and naked on the beach

You loud loud saunas, ringing steam and wet hair dripping snow melt water on the rocks

You backwoods boys with your ragged beards and hands, hunting knives from your fathers, also some conservatism from your fathers, but hearts hot for the Goddess, that’s from your mothers

You deep winter makeout parties with all the beauties in moonstone jewelry

Goodbye Yukon, frost-bearded husband blissful in starlit snow on the hill, with a sled and a thermos, under the new moon

Goodbye Yukon

I dreamed picking cranberries in the forest- they were still bitter, and in the dream i couldn’t find any kinikinick, but someone was turning into a bear by way of a dog

Goodbye endless forests, forests like santa clause, forests like a glitter parade, forests like dragon’s treasure, forests like a fat woman- so many trees, so many trees

It’s supposed to be dry here but it rained the whole summer. I have never seen such a scheming bunch of arrogant and obese gophers 

Goodbye Yukon. How will my heart find itself without your dark, your blue, your cold?

-Robert W. Service