Blatz

There used to be 
a Blatz sign above 
a bar that had 
a deer park attached 
that my dad would 
take us to on
Saturday afternoons when I 
was a kid men
smoked cigars there and 
now as I smoke 
one outside on this
Colorado summer morning the 
wind in the leaves 
make the same sound 
as the tinkling of 
that Blatz sign and 
though I’m thousands of 
miles away I’m not 
I really am not