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.