Wet November Sunday

This is an undated and untitled poem which I wrote when I was working at Boston Secure Treatment.  The wet weather today made this poem seem strangely appropriate.

BST was a behaviour treatment program for DYS 'adjudicated' juveniles and we always had long goodbyes in our 'community meetings' whenever any staff or resident left.  If memory serves me, the year Jacob left would have been 1997.  He was a pain in the ass, but he was never a bullshitter and I always appreciated that about him. This is also one of the many, many poems and pieces I wrote in one way or another about Fall in New England.  I've tried to replicate the original formatting I used back when I was using my sisters Mac Plus.



                                                            the very next day
                                                         or the day after that

when the rains came
        wet November Sunday  
the smell of rotting leaves
        like old fireplaces
is everywhere
        covering the ground
like old insulation.

                                ~                ~               ~

                                                            we said goodbye.
                                                       the day
                                                            Jake said nothing.


when it turned back to 50 degrees
         sunny November Wednesday
the words around the circle
         like true falsities
lasted two hours
         weighting the day
like a photo of the future.


                              ~                 ~                ~