Sixty seven miles per hour
Vulcanized rubber kisses the interstate
A chill afternoon with a taste of fall
Being driven by the ample wind
Whose relentless tickling
Excites the first few maples
Into a premature orgasm of color
Where they stand dancing nervously
Like harvest sweaters hung to dry
Anxiously flittering on a clothesline of nostalgia
A sixteen millimeter reel of film
Flickers in the theater of my memories
Turning out it’s sepia celluloid bouquet
Marvelous moving pictures entitled…
“October and More”