Hit by a stun gun
or tranquilizer dart,
she can’t tell.

Two hipster dudes
in skinny jeans, rolled-up
sleeves, creative facial hair,

bang on a beat-up
piano rolled onto the sidewalk.
Yesterday it stood

abandoned on the tree
lawn, fallboard down.

Summer passes the baton
to Fall. It doesn’t go smoothly.
Summer resists letting go.
Drops it on purpose.

Fall swoops in, takes hold,
appears to have a firm grip,
begins shaking leaves,
dries out the air.

But then Summer’s last breath,
hot and pungent,
burns off morning frost,
suppresses red and orange brilliance.

Fools, everyone, for a single
strange day in October.

Dance transforming quietude,
song breaking silence.

She refuses to commit
to a mood
till the keys declare
up or down.