The World is out of the office,
In Franklin, NC, of all places,
Drinking blood orange Italian cream
Sodas in the Rathskeller, at
Peace now Fall has arrived if not
In the trees yet in the breeze that
Blows down Main St. like a mother’s
Hand wiping a crumb from your chin.
Embrace him, he’s the new death, the
One we’re waiting on under this
Fecund fall of sweet dead leaves
And broken branches covering
Tracks into the middle before
Emerging out the other side.
Coffee’s on me if we make it.
There’s a Starbucks on the corner.
Inscrutability is a
Craft, not just a passion I say
Feeding the card reader at the
Parking garage, waiting for the
Gate to lift, a Midway con in
Reverse, like taking best of five
In tic tac toe against yourself.
Do you have any cash on you?