Bad October on Lowell Street (a poem)

the day we broke up i

walked down Lowell Street

and watched as

a woman blew leaves off her lawn and

the wind blew them right back.

i passed an elderly couple on

one end of the street, turned around

and passed them again.

the lady twirled a leaf

in her gloved hand.

at almost every

eclectic little house i had to

stop and let out a little sob, staring at the pumpkins

adorning doorsteps,

wishing i could just walk inside and

join these people for dinner. i’d say,

“i’m having a tough day” and they’d understand

and make up a plate and i’d sit and eat until

i felt whole again.

i want to skip all this coming

of age bullshit,

live in a little New England house

with pumpkins

and a Beamer in the

driveway.

i had mentioned something like that to you,

on the phone earlier, said

“Doesn’t it suck how much everything hurts when

you’re young?”

you replied

“Everything hurts a lot in general.”

and that’s when i realized we

had become completely

different people.