I’ve chosen to take the stairs.
It’s harder, but quicker
than waiting for the elevator
which seems eternally stuck on R—Roof.

 

We ate alone in the immense dining room.
My mother got me to eat each night
by saying any meat was buffalo meat.

I finally broke down and opened the shoebox
which arrived just weeks after my father died.
All winter I had put it out of sight on top

To take advantage of the January thaw, I walk
uptown to savor the grapefruits and green
peppers in the winter light, then, returning, turn

It’s a little later. And very dark and quiet now.
A few scattered lights penetrate the empty distance.

City emptiness terrifies—even without the stars.
I mean —the blankness—and silence—have force: gravity.

 

That it could all come down 
to a man in a room 
empty but for

 

There are no cattle in Abilene.
I expected cattle.
I thought they trafficked in cattle in Abilene.