its october and the sox are in line
the fan is still in the window in anticipation of indian summer
the streets of witch city are thoroughly washed
and the shop keepers are lined up with their cash registers open
the foolish walk through the town and photograph street lights
and other such nonsensicle items
while the locals all pack up their items and move
from one shitty apartment to another
hoping that new parking lots wont be constructed across
from where they live now

its october and the societal snipe hunt is happening
couples are uncoupling while the single
mingle
looking for a warm body to enhance their bed comforters
in the cold upcoming winter
and those winter blossoms will bloom in spite of the bitter
and the bite
and eventually if lucky
will push through the layers of snow and frozen earth
to create roots for the spring and summers warmth

its october now
and those that crave the cool breath from autumns lips
are revelling in the prospects from their sweater closet
no more beach wear on the hips of the hip
no more tan lines on the bits of the twits
and as the leaves skim and sway into the pathways of the foot
and the sleeves lower to respectable lengths
the cheeks grow pink with chilled kisses
and i miss the heat already