autumns attention

seasonal obsession
is my vice.
the smell of fall,
sure,
is a common pleasure.
the breeze of summer
undoes my top button
and I am more free.
my mind is unadulterated
when I think of
all the seasons that have
passed
and every baseball game
that ended
earlier
because the parks didn't have
lights then.
o what those days
must have felt like!
(any different?)
it's like looking at black and white
photos;
everyone is gilded in
history
but really
would that man
not buy the newspaper today?
he may wear different shoes
but he'd still be
wearing a wool coat
because despite what we think
the breeze still blows the coldest
across the Hudson
and the
hair on your neck
is the first to
stand at
autumns attention.