Fall of New York

Fall of New York

Fifth Avenue:
Umbrellas bob
down the sidewalk
like drunken
Chinese lanterns
and a cool wind
has invaded in
from the north.

Summer’s anger
still seethes
below street level
but today refused
to bare its teeth,
opting to stay dry
in the warm refuge
of the train tunnels.

A week ago,
I was a stick of butter
greasing 23rd Street
on my walk to work,
and this morning
I was treated to a
coming-attractions reel
for Fall of New York.

The Lies We Tell

The Lies We Tell
She smiled and commented
on the beautiful foliage
as we wound through
the hills of western Jersey.
The landscape, splattered
and spread out before us,
like a discarded artist’s drop cloth.
The once green countryside
had turned to saffron, apricot,
sienna, and apple-red.
I continued to drive, in silence,
as she waited for my agreement.
I couldn’t see beauty as I stared
out at the harbinger of winter:
Soon the kaleidoscope of leaves
would shrivel and be replaced
by legions of brown stickmen;
the rolling hills covered
in a death shroud of white.
She looked over and repeated
“Isn’t it lovely?”
As I turned, I caught my reflection;
I could see it was late summer
and October was approaching.
“Yes, it’s beautiful” I replied.

SMG

Tides

Tides

We traced the shoreline
with deliberate footsteps
in the failing light.

A pointed conversation,
each solemn word lost
in the crash of the waves;

(The ebb of love
is usually measured
and unperceived;

a gradual retreat
with no regard
for the coming moon.)

and the rhythmic water
eroded all evidence
of what was, as we passed.

SMG