When October Wants to Go

When October looks up at me from
its languid summer read
And curls its toes in cooling sand
Restlessly
Well, then
It's time to go in.
Time to clack and snick
the frayed aluminum beach chair
And snap the terry towels in the purpling air
To return grit and memory and empty claws
to the forever saltwater pitch
Next summer they'll wash up again
Under the arched, itching feet of different men.
As I clatter across the warm pavement
Busking traffic pushing the first yellow leaves
to my ankles
I glance up, sunweary
At the moon
And think of the almost-empty plate
At the Italian restaurant where we talked
Waiters shuffling in the shadows
at closing time.