Distraction Extraordinaire

How can I grade exams when The New Yorker that just arrived at my doorstep has a brilliant poem (villanelle?) about my hometown?

"Roanoke Pastorale"

Cardinal, goldfinch, titmouse, turkey buzzard -
dear companions of my afternoons -
above this field, high clouds dream of blizzards

to snow me in till spring ends my solitude.
Sober's my binge now, nature my saloon.
Wren, mourning dove, house finch, turkey buzzard -

for your entertainment, I sing the words
of old fifties songs, use baby talk, croon
as I walk the field beneath great blizzard -

dreaming clouds. You gaudy pretties, sweet birds
of my senior years - my later's my soon.
Catbirds flit through cedars in the graveyard,

turkey buzzards swirl their patterns overhead,
across the mountainside sunlight bows a tune
rising to blue eternity but heard

by the heron fishing the creek, wizard
of stillness, creature designed by the moon.
Bluebird, jay, chipping sparrow, turkey buzzard,
clouds, and field - I dream this life, walk this world.

~David Huddle