An Account of Being Erie, Summer 1958

Darkness is on the rise,
as it always is this time of year,
when the long days turn into shortcuts,
and the sunsets trickle slowly off course,

I learned to expect very little from anyone but myself,
if you want something done,
give it to a busy person,
so they said,

if you want something done,
do it yourself,
is what they meant,

There was an evening standard of sorts,
not the newspaper,
but the settling of the temperature this time of night,
over the years,
had become my only form of stability,

if the Moon was supposed to be the light at the end of the tunnel,
God's flashlight, if you will,
then why was it the sum of all fears,
the backdrop for this disappointing diorama of mine

This is all upside down,
as it always is this time of year,
but then again,
even Isaac Newton was human on some of these humid eves