Our days often ended and began
with the sound of voices raised
in song. Even after we murdered
our friends and neighbors. Even
At The Writer’s Almanac, there’s one up by Louis Simpson called
After midnight when the presses were rolling
we would leave the Herald Tribune building
and walk up to Times Square.
The three of us would still be laughing and joking.
trouser cuffs inched up,
bright turquoise socks—