Thursday

Silky wind passed over my fingertips
as my hand dangled limp from the driver's side window.

The sun had already set
but there was this undulating orange tint
that infected the October air.

I listened to Dave Matthews Band
as I tried to remember what Harold Bloom had said
about Anton Chekhov.

Drew went back to Dallas today
and the fall weighed heavy
on my chest.

It seemed like such a nice evening
but somehow I just couldn't smile.