By Bud Smith
out on the fire escape
drinking beer
watching the sun
about to crush
the adjacent building
oh…
it didn’t crush it
it was just setting
that gets me every time
looking across the street
at the rooftop
with purple holiday lights
that never
came down
and the girls smoking
they aren’t sending me
smoke rings, yet
but they will
if the wind changes
making an itemized list
of everything
that I’m not going to do
for the rest of the night
and then leaving the notebook
with the list
inside the pigeon coops
while they go crazy
and coo
and my sneakers
sink so deep
into the hot magnetic tar
of the roof I’m not
allowed to be on
as/per: THE MANAGEMENT
you get a breeze up here
but the view is sobering
so
go back in your window
and write another love letter
to somebody
anybody
in any of the lit up windows
across the block
who could be looking in my window
and wondering
what the city would be like
with new company
Clutching at Straws 