It's about time, I reckon,
To give up short sleeves
For the season.
Leaves are falling, birds flocking;
A chill north wind is gusting
Down from Amarillo.
But I'm delaying as long as possible
Doffing my arm-freeing,
Comfortable garb.
It's partly elbow claustrophobia,
Partly because
I cannot easily mind the hours
With my wristwatch
Stuffed under a cuff,
I can't glance affectionately
At the lapis bracelet
My wife made for me
When we were younger,
My arthritic fingers
Will have two more buttons
To fumble with each day,
And I'll comprehend
Without asking
That Summer's gone away.
Comment: Another example of your fine sense of the poetic in common day experiences, your ability to connect both intellectually and emotionally with your environment and uncover interesting surprises in things we too often take for granted. The voice still reminds me of Frost.
Comment: John, the phrase "elbow claustrophobia" delights me, as indeed, does the rest of your poem, but just had to mention this. Thanks for the thought!
