Red maple leaves
deep allyzarin crymson
against the dark trees

The sky a promising whitish that will seemingly warm again

The gray tilt of the roof remains
steady as a quiet man
in a gray suit
before he gets in his car to go to
his respectable office job.

Water pipes tick
quietly and obediently.
They are like little
men in the walls making sure
everything will work
when all arise and start
using using using and
making making making and
turning on and turning off and turning in circles and half circles.

The coffee sits
smugly warming itself
while at the same time knowing
it's going to get cold pretty soon.

The day agrees not to start without
me and only
the sound of a lonely airplane
disturbs the lukewarm
silence of this sleepy place.

This is me in suburbia.