Buffalo '86

by P. Scott Cunningham

(Originally published in The International Literary Quarterly Issue #13, Spring 2011)

The snow in Buffalo blows
to and fro
burying cars along the avenue home.

one's inside to turn their radios on
silence plays silently to no one-

rows of sunken clouds
domes of metal, leather and snow.

I can't open the window
so the television's on-
news like a fog horn
an always-ringing phone

the fathers and husbands of Buffalo
emerging, at dawn, from their homes-

armed with brushes and shovels.

One by one
they scrape off the snow
the engines turn on

and I open the lid of my piano.