This is number 16.
Snow upon a peak in Colorado.
And along Larimer Street, the heat of boot heels
worn to skin.
For the price of a pint of Thunderbird,
I can whip any man in the house.
For two bits, I can earn the privilege
of watching slim Jimmy pee beyond his shoes.
For an extra coin, he'll try it standing on his head.
All, I have more friends here than a dog has fleas,
yet something about their anxious breath unnerves me.
That, and eyes that comb my haircut's gaudy rum.
Thus, I head for the hills.
It is untracked snow I covet now, rare air and an overview.
Then later, maybe, a good, solid woman.
I want to sit down to ham and eggs,
to a plate that looks back for something more
than cheap mercy."