All photographs are by Russell Bittner

S e p t e m b e r

Try not to remember how once in September
I fought to keep both boats afloat,
as “friends” would all gather to lambaste our blather,
then vote on who’d best cooked whose goat.

Instead, watch the children in early December
when Christmas is still quite remote,
since kids know this dad’s lack of facts in November
might mean one less warm winter coat.

* * * * * * * * * *

The heat’s less oppressive, yet I’m still obsessive
about my late lover—don’t gloat.
Instead, let’s bring Smirnov to bed for a burn-off,
then swill with a swell anecdote:

while true that her aura (she’s no Petrarch’s Laura)
may stick thick as thieves in my throat,
let’s not forget Laura, too, once had an aura
of crepuscule—now creosote.

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