The neighbor’s roof is half white.
A hawk sits in the apple tree
which hasn’t fruited for years.
I sip lukewarm earl grey tea,
listen to Claude Debussy
on ten dollar speakers
ordered on Amazon five years ago,
and watch the first snow fall.
“God must have awful dandruff,”
I hear the twelve year old
inside me
loudly and proudly proclaim.
It’s nice he’s still in there,
making his observations,
with all the other versions
we overthrew
nobody knows best like the present.
The hawk is still
there and so am I
and so
Debussy plays on.

written on 11/10/2017 by: Matt Kane