1201 E. Weber  

     for Nick Petzak

No where near Olympus a car honks in

Night’s center.  A staccato snap from the 

Rock club’s snare drum.  Airplanes on descent, and 

Take off, depending on the time.  Fly by 

Cars at fifty miles an hour.   If only 

The dogs stopped barking.  We just stay in our 

Rooms, doors shut.  It’s easier that way.  At 

Least there are birds.  Finches with their red heads, 

Agile Sparrows.  Inca Doves sit seven, 

Eight, nine watching, scatter when they are ten. 

Cowbirds, bloody-red eyes, twisting deformed 

Beaks.  Grackles squawk, whistle, run around like 

Snotty athletes, strut with noses pointed 

Up.  It turned cold at last tonight and, for 

Only a moment, the quiet lasted.