The End of November

The month seems to 

have had wings,

here in America’s Finest City,

where the locals are old, 

the snowbirds are grateful, 

and the poets are all in good form.

A month of happy returns

and thanksgiving, 

of many old friends,

a new few. 

We live mostly for today, 

knowing the gods will laugh 

at foolish plans beyond 

breakfast or lunch.

Winter’s not yet here, 

at least not officially,

but we know all too well

how wise we were to move,

yet how much we miss 

just a few more weeks to 

the midnight kiss at nine p.m..

Yes, winter’s not here, but

don’t tell that to 

our aching legs and

shoulders at dawn. 

That’s our breath we see 

in front of us in the morning,

leading the way to the coffee.

No complaints, though.

There’s much to be learned at this age.

A little loss of sound can be a blessing,

a chance to return to the

self-absorption of youth, even as 

December is a time for connection,

visits, phone calls, letters, cards and

e-mails, in that very descending order 

of intimacy, and it really is too bad,

what e-mail thing has done to

letter writing, ancient and loving art.

Visits require some degree of readiness,

at least a clean bathroom, but

phone calls, especially the random ones,

can find you in your pajamas, 

heck, even on the toilet. 

Cards are okay, when one does not

have time for a letter, but 

letters have more heart, give more time

to the writer to be reflective,

like a poet, 

searching, reaching, looking

for just the right words.

A writer of letters gets to reflect,

to muse a bit about the addressee, to

remember precious moments, to dream of

better moments yet to come, 

maybe even to plan some, and say so.

It is a peaceful activity, letter writing,

perfect for the cocoa and comforter

days of year’s end. 

We’re older now, 

no longer big consumers;

rather, giving stuff away,

the things that have piled up 

in closets and storage units over time,

so Black Friday means nothing, 

Cyber Monday even less. 

We might still go to the parties, 

ooh and aah over trees and menorahs,

eat too much cheese,

drink just the right amount of wine.

We’ll arrive late, leave early,

talk about the coming films,

and wish each other well.

We’ll tiptoe through 

these next few weeks, and

soon, the new year will come

and we’ll make it our peaceful own.

My sweetie, the cats and me.