October, and the temperature falls
The young women are gone from the pools
and where do they go but into libraries
and taverns and college dorms leaving us
to rake leaves and pick up trash,
we who once swore not to permit changes
in ourselves: older looking now,
spots on our arms
The heads of trees flame orange and amber,
summer burning itself out; tiny birds disappear
as ashes in the sky above high rises
I hear the crackling of knees,
heavy breathing on uphill paths
Can’t drive as well at night,
have good old friends with minds adrift
or moved to tiny condos in Florida
to chase the bouncing ball
of well-worn jingles
Regulars at the park know our faces but not us
Inevitable that we should return to anonymity,
our one time wish, and sorry for it now
We mavericks worked hard at it, didn’t we?
Tried to change the world
with beads and toke and tie dyes
but the world kept wanting to resist
our dreams for better lives that
tumble onward and out of our grip
“Such a deal,” the corner grocer loved to say,
“what next?” and the next thing, and the next,
so brutally fast that time unwinds without us
Our young trip away in other directions,
sip candied coffee and text complaints
to a cloud
And the little girl from down the street
has long forgotten it was a tree and I
who swung the rope she skipped beyond
Suddenly empowered as new manager
of the last of the upscale shoe stores
she’s happy to smirk and wisecrack
that my beloved desert boots remind her
of the sad old dogs her grandpa wore
in black and white photos of the ’60’s