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In the elevator

His short legs did reach the floor,
but barely lifted his small body
eight or nine inches above it.
The elevator light gave his canine eyes
a sheen of green as in silence he
peered  intently up at me.
Was it friendship I saw
or merely lust for the sandwich I carried?
I will never know as
the elevator lurched to a stop
and he followed his owner
into the hall.

9 April 2012
Morningside Gardens

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Filed under Poem

Still 117

Riding up in the elevator today with someone I had not seen in a while, and the conversation went like this:

Did you make it through Hurricane Irene, OK?

I did fine. I was in Oklahoma.

That’s one way to avoid it.

They had lots of coverage. I watched. 

How was Oklahoma?

It was good. Well, it was hot. 117 degrees.

117? (image a sense of amazement and wonder in the tone of voice)

Yes. But it wasn’t so bad. It was a dry heat. Not humid like here.

At this point, the elevator reached his floor. Now I realize that humidity matters. Matters a great deal. One of the things I like about northern New Mexico is the lower humidity. But . . . so as he left the car, I said:

But 117 is still 117.

(laughing) 117 is still 117.

Enjoying cooler weather and hoping it continues!

See you along the Trail.
 

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