WHERE WE ARE Last night a hard wind drove what leaves are left from branches to the street below. This morning junco, wren and house finch crowd the feeder in the kind of unforgiving light reserved for late fall. Last weekend, or maybe the week before, would have been perfect for driving the twisting roads east of town to measure the changing shades of oak and maple against the shifting landscape. Where was I? Where were you? Sleeping off too much drink, dreaming of the bluff and double cross, the ugly sell out we live with day and night. I know you well enough to see your anger coiled behind the smallest gestures, the way you brush your hair or remove an earring when you answer the phone. All we can do now is sit tight in a low lit room and wait for the hard frost. Peter Klein
PETER KLEIN has most recently published poems in The Cortland Review, The Lightning Bell Poetry Journal , and The Paumanok Review . He lives with his wife in Nashville, Tennessee where he works for a market research company.