Red Doors are closing in on
parched leaves, studding the sidewalks.
We have crossed out yet another season
on our kitty calendar and dressed the meager
backyard in ghoulish rags.
The procession of witches and ghouls
too shall pass and not much else will happen.
Some birds will be washed down with wine and
“thank you’s” and then forgotten.
Gifts shall be found and unwrapped under plastic trees
while a tired old man escapes a make-belief chimney!
We shall cast aside our hopes
and wait with abated breath for next year with
butterflies in our eyes. Nothing much ever happens.