In autumn

we quietly slow down.

Night begins in the afternoon.

Old joints grow stiff and creaky.

With a great sigh,

oaks and maples let go of their leaves.

A cold east wind tears through my bones

as fall turns into winter.

Not everyone made it this year.

My decrepit old dog breathed

his last goodbye:

A private loss, while one Saturday

a black smoke cloud darkened the sky

over the Roseway Theatre fire.

The fumes lingered for days.

She was magnificent,

the finest thing in our neighborhood.

For nearly a century she showed

one movie at a time.

Among the multiplex chains everywhere

she stood proud.

The whole neighborhood mourns.