There’s something about September
That strikes me
On this cold December afternoon.
Maybe it’s the wrap up and
That remind me of
The way the wasps hang heavy in the air
Sun coming through from a distance
Just barely enough to believe
Every day might be the last
And those of us living comfortable lives
Hold on by the fingertips
It’s the smell of sharpened pencils
Fresh packs of loose leaf.
It's sweating in back to school clothes
Worn too soon.
You always have a chance
To start from scratch
Though you almost never do.