September Second

A wish to speak not of august. 

afternoons linger then desert us 

without a farewell handshake. 

instead, speak of carnival smoke

that drips off steel gutters

and coats painted nimble forearms on stairwells. 

Closing; the end of summer brings… oh, I don’t know. 

old horse shoes clash

beneath the concrete streets and sodded lawns. 

feet feel it. 

Blues (definition): to admire (from afar)

the drifting of the peace

only summers delight can bring. 

Everything (must come to an end). 

August dwindles. 

my great aunt: 

she, with lead palms, must finally 

close the kitchen door

and stop the air (from outside) from kissing the air (from inside). 

Haughty gusts take sweet summers place. 

and so it begins: the process

of the great retreat and the trying (the trying!) to find delight 

in the titian drowsiness. 

pace quickens when august ends. (my heels dig in). 

I wear thin. 

chipped paint. 

(So it goes)