Dear November
I do not know a lovelier hour than this, dusk on the cobblestones, the river
wearing a mask
of blue velveteen fire. The spine still tingles, the waltz rhythms,
from a squawky radio, an open window, one brave geranium still in bloom,
the waltz rhythms never lose their lilting charm. The full moon? Like a mom
at a school crossing.
Even on this lovely hour of the evening, the clocktower
a perfect spire of darkness
and rosy light, what I want most
will not be found. Joy
is the secret of how
to restore the wind. One kiss,
or two. You turn away,
I turn up my collar, and winter begins.
Robert McDonald's poems have appeared in Court Green, Southern Poetry Review, Gertrude, and 42 Opus, among many others. He lives in Chicago, where he works as the buyer for an independent bookstore. He also the co-author of the book A Field Guide to Gay and Lesbian Chicago. (robmc1002@yahoo.com)