He went hunting for squirrels

on a cold October day.

I remember my time

in Pittsburgh being one

in which I sat playing cards

till four in the morning,

the fine whisky

slowly adding to the occasion

of friendship, far removed

from the man with the gun

in his hand

and hate seeping out of his porous heart.

The incline railway overlooking

all of creation, the once former

Steeler’s ground lost

to history it seemed,

but below, stewing in his bile soup