Grey October

There’s something about October,

on rainy days,

where warm patches in the shape of buses emerge

from the washed-out greys

and raincoats shine with the tears of lost yesterdays…

There’s something about days like these - October days -

that raise echoes from long ago and impress upon me

that, while nothing stays the same - and there’s no going back -

some things never change.

Things like beer stains on tables in pubs where you go

when there’s nowhere else and it’s cold and wet outside -

where you go to dream of poppies and meadows and bumble bees

and are faced instead with rings of beery memories...

Like ink blots and unexpected acne spots

- and the smell of public swimming pools,

noise, disorienting, rebounding off the ceiling…

There’s something about October in the rain

that sieves my memories fine

and presents me with the gunk they leave behind.

Days when the crisp Autumn weeps the pavements soggy

and leaves me - in the midst of all the sobbing -

lamenting forgotten dreams.