When the Bills lose against the Chiefs, I don’t even
reach for the remote to turn off the TV, at this point in my life
constant disappointment has blessed me with telekinesis
I can move things with my broken heart, we all can
in Buffalo, after the screen goes dark, I move through the house
like a Victorian ghost, putting on my Jon Snow coat
my snow boots and venture out into the night
not quite single digits but it’s getting there
in times of great collapse, I look for community
the footprints in snow that lead you somewhere but nowhere
it’s comforting though because someone else
has been here before, what it’s like to circle the wagons
what it’s like putting on other people’s shoes
the commiserating chemistry when I lock eyes
with drivers stuck at red lights knowing that they too
are thinking about work in the morning and like, why
no one will want to muster tomorrow’s punchcard
but we will anyway, muted radios and not driving off
the Skyway, we’ll caffeinate our resolve and get through the day
it’s what we’re good at… anyway, I’m writing “13 seconds”
in the parking lot snow of the gas station on the corner of Colvin
and Sheridan when I notice one magical snowplow aimlessly
driving around, there’s no snow to micromanage
and I wonder if it’s out here trying to do something else:
maybe guide our emotions, so we have a clearer path to walk
stack our defeats one by one, so we have something to climb
when we wanna pluck a falling star from the sky, that mafia plane
shaking off the Midwest dirt, some of us will even frostbite
our insomnia and wait like a proud parade at the airport
because we want to hug you, comfort you in your time of need
because through all this pandemic grief, this has been like a fairytale
still in search of that perfect ending, but we’re getting there
slowly but surely, and as it gets closer to midnight
and the cars are disappeared down sidestreets, I stare
at an almost-full moon, so yellow that some might mistake it for gold
I guess it’s all about how you look at things, the treasure
we always hold in our hands, how we always seem to pick up the pieces
and this is no different, because I know we’ll persevere, so I think about
hopping a ride on that snowplow, drift through the city I love
helping push aside any obstacles while singing, “The future
makes me wanna shout!”
Lead image: www.flickr.com/photos/joeglo/51529935401 | commons.wikimedia.org