This chill is unmistakably autumn, that
pinching hint of the first gust to strip
boughs, streetlights wear a cut-glass
halo and hum
as you pass. At this hour,
cabbies get reckless, the long, lemon
sedan leaning
a bend, betting on empty streets, a shudder
and squeal as it straightens,
moving off —
We have shuffled our lives
to somewhere north of wanting
each other. Used
distance as anodyne. Pared
it all down to these grim-lipped
take cares on flint-grey paper. I’ve
just finished a longish letter
and am walking it off —
pacing the areas
mapped out for toddlers and well-trained
dogs. The blue cruisers can be seen
in the least likely precincts, prowling
past hedges, inching down backstreets,
roof lights itching to burst.
The alarms are set all over
the neighbourhood,
and the cops
creep deeper into silence,
onto something.