Calculating My Limits

Milton Jordan

April 14, 2024

I grew up in Houston off of Wayside Drive.  

I Ain’t Living Long Like This, Waylon Jennings  

I spent my better alone moments  

on a crowded city street corner bench

where Lamar crossed Fannin in that silence 

only stalled and honking traffic can create.

I preferred the evening glow of sunset

reflected off windows of multi-storied 

office buildings followed by streetlights 

slowly spreading into view. 

I did not bring my notebook to that corner

nor record thoughts on a not that small

device hanging in my right shoulder bag

to save the scenes that might elude my memory.

I brought the corner back with me after dark, 

pedestrians rushing from those offices,

the couple out for early supper, 

the harried driver late for his.

I ride the much reduced bus service

to that bench and the sun’s shattered setting 

reflected off  broken ninth story windows,

unlit streetlights disappearing in shadow.

I watch the easy flow of light traffic

lament the lack of its steady sound,

the few pedestrians in no rush

passing locked breakfast and lunch only cafes

I received Council’s Houston Tomorrow 

Proclamation: “A New City Center”

accompanied by the artist’s rendition

of smaller buildings and bayou park trails.

I note an absence of financial figures,

the carefully vague undated timeline,

and speculate my own slim chances

of penning poems on Houston Tomorrow.

Milton Jordan lives with Anne in Georgetown, Texas. He co-edited the first Texas Poetry Assignment anthology, Lone Star Poetry, Kallisto Gaia Press, 2022.