A giant billboard boasts
the intrinsic appeal
of Duluth in winter. A woman paces back

and forth beside a café table
as she talks on her cell. I wouldn’t
want to live in a cave

or a cell or
Duluth any time
of year. I’m always early—

overestimating the duration
of everything. I might wait
in a cave

or a cell
for a meeting with one of those blues
harp players who’s never

on time. I don’t think
I’d wait in Duluth.