An October In Ann Arbor Poem by Taylor Rosewood

While others may convene at the Big House,
I'd rather be at the flat chasing you,
or there on the floor with young Mrs. Krause,
while she told me all the things I should do.

I know you're not her, but give it a try,
there's some horn rims and heels on the night stand.
There's a black frock too, with the neck cropped high.
You can insult, degrade and reprimand.

When the thirtieth falls, my world turns gray,
though Indian summer lingers outside.
'I come from Ohio.' I heard you say.
Are those real apples, or have I just died?

Sweet Buckeye pomes changed pain into ardor.
No more poems about old Ann Arbor.

copyright, Taylor Rosewood 2010