looking out a Lang window during poetry class

The wall is of glass
Opening out to 11th street.
The brick across the way is red red red
With black painted window frames
Covered by the trees.

The trees are what I love best from
This window. In September they
Are still green and the window is
Filled and the street is filled with tree.
But now, in such late October, the leaves have
Gone so red and yellow
The street is covered but the window is cheated.

It’s the fault of the Nor’easter
That rained through last week.
The brown bark can now
Show its face. Almost shaven clean
But not yet bare.

Soon, maybe by Christmas, the leaves
Will all go and the bark be covered
in cream and snow
And I will love this window just the same;
The white and the brown and the red red brick.

red saks sweater

New York is bundled up all in
Wintry coats and dusty sleeves
Away with the sandals,
Away with your fingers!
Unpack the yarned scarves, boots, and mittens.
The six train will be warmer now and
Cozier at the rush hour
Instead of sweat and skin, there will
Be down feathers and sweaters.
Thus here I sit in Lang,
In my Papa’s red Saks sweater
The sleeves must be rolled up—
Twice—
So my fingers and wrists are free.
The tight, red yarn knits on for rows and rows
and folds down to my knees
But all these rows used to just fit across
His Christmas belly
All full of turkey and pudding and pie.