Fall

There was too much time for talk. Old man summer
with his pretty-boy face and sunshine cane
wiped the drool from his chin before we noticed.
Young men flexing muscles as they walk the shore,
eyeing through their shades the bikini-clad
young women playing each other and stomp-
splashing their feet as they secretly spy
on the boys. Not us. Who are we anyway?
What green force brought us here to brown and wither?
We're not at the beach, are we? But then how could
you know, we're not even together. Don't
look at me that way, with your unflinching page-
ward eyes like spikes, as if I'm the one confused.
It's personal now, now that we hide in the nude.