Middle Of October

by

Rick Bandy

Middle of October and it should be
slate gray and blowing cold wet.
Instead it is good enough out to sit
on the back porch in my underwear
and watch the cars drive and the planes glide by,
and a single fly avoid the plumes of smoke
from the first buck-and-a-quarter cigar
I’ve had in a long time.
The last beer in the fridge is gone,
the sun is almost gone, and days like this
will soon be gone for a winter’s eternity.

Still I have my memories, aging like wine.
And I have my hopes, bubbling till they crash
into reality.
And I have today.
For the middle of October that puts me
solidly in the black.

Not exactly rich.

Not wanting either.

Not for the middle of October.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Subtly Human
by: Andrea Damaris
from: Los Angeles, CA, US

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