BREAKFAST IN BUFFALO

I didn’t demand too much
but too little

walking along
in cotton bell bottoms and wool vest
in the gray slush.

I’ve long forgotten
she was Bufferin and headaches.

You know the stuff that’s a misery to drive in
but a joy to watch, if you stay home.

From where we sat then, it was the Far West.
A realm the small-town designer would label
along with Pittsburgh
the “Near East.”

I really ought to get going
again.

To continue, click here.
Copyright 2015

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