Cold Snap

He shrugs,
and our sneakers shuffle uncomfortably on cool concrete.
Somewhere above us, a flag snaps as the wind swings slowly
from south to north – from summer to winter.
Just like that. In a snap. Summer to winter.

He shrugs,
and I am uncomfortable on cool concrete.

The silence breaks stubbornly, like it’s gone stale.

Yeah, well,
I guess I gotta hand it to him.

I do smoke, and drink,
and sometimes I kiss and tell.
Sometimes I do more than that.
Sometimes I smile about it.

I do all of those things,
and I still breathe.
And I still need people.
And so do you, boy,
though you’d rather not admit it.

I am uncomfortable as the silence breaks
like waves over the concrete, whispering
like the first of this season’s leaves scraping across the ground.
Like my voices rasps
as I say something noncommittal.

Yeah, just like that. Snap.
Summer to winter.
I gotta hand it to him.