My Pittsburgh

For as long as I was gone 
my Pittsburgh was a summer 
city of telephone poles 
tacked all over with beer bottle caps.
In the evenings, deer wandered 
Forbes Avenue on their way 
to or from the river.  
No one was surprised when lovers 
spent afternoons leaning  
naked from bedroom windows 
calling   Marco—        Polo— 
On their sills amber 
glasses of iced tea emptied 
and filled with sunlight. 


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