I Dream of Buffalo in Mid-Winter

I dream of Buffalo in Mid-Winter

But not of the one in New York.

No, that Buffalo is so bitingly cold,

We chisel our soup with a fork.

I dream of buffalo, both noun and verb,

Of animals spread on the plain.

But to dream of Buffalo, town on Lake Erie

I’d have to be fucking insane.

There’s a Buffalo town down in Texas,

In South Carolina likewise.

A dream about either location

Would not come as such a surprise.

And yet Buffalo in Midwinter

Persists on my feverish brain.

Despite all the cold, the wind and the snow,

The endless lethargy of the status quo,

My house’s location upon an ice flow,

At least I’m not stuck up in Maine.