I Married the Man from Pittsburgh

This was a birthday gift to Neil one year.

I never held you but I thought of the devil
with two blue eyes and tongue of honeyed gold.
I saw the rise of industry in those eyes--
cloudless blue and steel and plate glass reaching for the sky.
Three Rivers ran through me
every time we joined. Floating Swann on Sundays,
and I was hit by the echo of the crack of Roberto's bat
on the ball, and you were always   always
                                                                  on   the   ball.

Suit and tie and briefcase--dressed
for success--except you chewed your nails.
You took half your worry out on those fingertips,
but when you fingered me
I felt like hot, smoky notes thumped from a bass
in the corner of a darkened bar.
You were not musical, but you played me, Ace,
and daylight broke through stained glass
in the little church on Fourth and Broad.

Nights, we played Fleetwood Mac so loudly
the neighbors knocked.
The streets of town overflowed with snow,
and everywhere    everywhere
                                               falling laughter.