Before snow closed the airport,
For a way out,
Drinking at the Patterson,
For the season,
The bartender joins in.
He’s old, and wears a black
A cowboy, drunk, says
“You’re lookin’ good.
Got a figure like a bombshell.
Like an angel. An angel from outer space.
Some guys’d up n’ say,
‘C’mon, you’re gonna have some.’ I believe in God.
I’d never say that to a girl.”
It’s ten below in Bismarck. They say it’s colder
In outer space.
In my hotel room
Is uncharacteristically hopeful.
“Better is the end of a thing,”
He says, loosening his loincloth,
“Than the beginning thereof.”