Thoughts During Winter in Brooklyn

I choose metal over wood,

Faithfulness over decay,

Permanence over reverie,

Walls that protect over windows that peek.

I want my legs strong, my roots deep,

My foundation immovable, my anchor secure.

All here fades –

Starts with freight train passion

And then, over time, superficially sputters

To a disillusioning halt,

A heart-shattering, decisive deactivation,

Leaving the conductor befuddled

And the cabin mates craving

A destination.

These tracks are wood, not metal,

And they crumble underneath

My onerous wheels

Because I am metal. I last.

And what doesn't last will kill me.