October

in october i cross the street more carefully because

fall lingers

last night’s popcorn dust and cheap glitter remain in the rug

refusing to participate in summer’s prismatic operation 

to refract detritus off knotted nylon tufts or

out of my mind


the sound of the broken vacuum echoes permanently between 

my bed and my roommate’s bed and the window and 

the tree outside the window where the squirrel settled

on the first day of october and i would guess it echoes in 

the squirrel, too


who shows no hint of recognition when i leave the bedroom and

walk underneath its reddening residence outside of my window but 

perhaps fall lingers so that i cannot


so that i cross the street without making a home on either side and

use the broken vacuum over and over again 

and repeatedly step around the residue in my rug in 

the same way that i avoid the cars on the street

outside of my window


because in the fall every consequence lingers so

i look both ways

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