October Stroll

 October Stroll

 

And then it was October.

Out for an afternoon stroll,

The sun so yellow in my eyes, they sting.

I’ve left my shades behind in the car.

My keys sing in my pocket.

Nope, I’m not turning around.

Not going back.

Light, anneal my eyeballs.

 

The autumn boulevards are full,

Intersections intersecting,

Multitudes of changing heights and widths and colors of hair

Wheeling around each other

Like comets, like yo-yos.

The air is spiced with smell and sound,

So crisp it tinkles like glasses on a tray,

And everything is warming on low, lightly wrapped in foil.

 

My head says to my hat,

I’m not walking this way for nothing,

Purpose, reveal yourself,

And a green-red shadow drops from a limb,

Plops at my feet

(Just missing the hat brim).

Ripe crabapple on the sidewalk,

The beginning of my new fortune.

 

Do I use MapQuest to tell me which street to turn on?

If I knew the way, I wouldn’t need to go.

But just like that, aches begin behind the knees

In spaces without names.

(I’m wrong—Popliteal Fossa).

Oh, the injustice of it.

I’ll have to sit on this bench for a while

And ponder.

 

Let the world come to me then.

Like my new watch, delivered today.

I don’t need to know the time,

I like feeling it around my wrist.

Across the street, a golden-haired maple underneath two blackbirds,

Now three, now two again,

Helps me practice my arithmetic

As the day moves on.

 

At last, here’s an ancient, angled man

Walking towards me,

The slanting sun red against his checkered shirt.

I’ll have a talk with him in a while.

He’s moving slowly, thank goodness.

Plenty of time to think of what to say.

 

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