I Don’t Like September

Wynn waterfall at night

I do not like September.
With its cooling breeze and covered knees,
Lyrically imprisoned in someone else’s dreams.
It’s back to school, march one, two, three.

I do not like September.
Three steps closer to the end of the year.
Which begs the question: where did it go?
One happy little walk off a very short pier.

I do not like September.
Lest we forget the eleventh.
Two came down, off went your cloak of naivete
Just to put on another.

I do not like September.
The only time of year you grieve
Playing the celluloid of his life bereft in your head
Reminds you he’s not here and still dead.

I do not like September.
Mostly because of the eighteenth
You’re one year older
Last year is the same as this one.

One more hill you have to climb
One more story left to write
One more song to shake it to
One more freeway to drive on

Three hundred sixty-five days
Until the next one shows its ugly face.

Morning at the Office

Foggy forest

Stoic and upright in the throne
The electric seduction of mechanically cooled air
Blurs the punctured silence of ambiance
Doors open and close above and below
Never behind
Leaves on the tree hover between a kaleidoscope of evergreen
It’s time for a meal
Patience knowing the wait is a little longer
For the welcome respite of sixty tick-tocks
Vocabulary reeks of the sickly sweet smell of rubbish
Percolating under the California sun
Unsure if the madness makes sense
In the greater scheme of things.