Bare feet and sweaters mix well tonight
on balconies with chilly railings,
baggy jeans, loud melancholy music,
and noiseless telephones.
It makes me think of Chicago,
where autumn was first magical,
obnoxious cars passing by at midnight
orange glares of streetlights were ignored
as we discussed literature over coffee.
breezy air meant cold was on its way
when just that afternoon,
we baked in the humid glaring sun.
Here, the air is fresh;
the horizon, littered with trees, not towers;
to the east, Iowa, not the lake.
Tonight, I realized
everything would be perfect
we could share a cappuccino
on the lake at sunrise...