I've missed the Roundup by six months
and now can't find a better way to pass
the time than to snoop around this old fire,
kick at the soot and wonder about timing.
She turned on the popcorn maker and forgot.
Later the half block was gone-the shoe repair
and coffee bean shops, the Eastern Oregon
Symphony's office and the home away
from home for the Fraternal Order of Eagles.
Fire symbolizes the end, or at best
the beginning, and here I am,
smack dab and happy in the middle.
And I can't think of any better way
to stay here than to watch
a man on a bull for eight point six seconds,
so focused on grip and posture,
relaxed in order to not let go.