October, Going

Already past the block before it reached me—

the jingle thinning fast. I stopped to see

nothing, just the end of the street, the sound

cycling once more, then done. I found

myself standing there with both hands

empty, trying to understand

the last time. Years. Before the years

I stopped expecting it. The gears

of the afternoon kept turning. Cold

October light. I stood. The old

jingle, gone. A light changed. I

walked when the sound had finished. My

hands still empty. The block, quiet now

the way a block is after somehow.