A Make-Believe Poem

Seaside autumn evenings seep
between the yellowing pages
of an old journal --
And rustling,
the winds of used deskfans
smell of sub-continental summers past.

Sour

This and that... and those;
sundry remnants of little summer indiscretions
      -- they build up on you! 
Hunched over, fat, sweating in sleeveless vests;
Sort and shuffle, and burrowing through
little stacks of procrastinations,
and lotto tickets, paperback Kerouac and playboys;
Murmurs of the lost summers
of his youth.

2nd Street

Sometimes, she wonders
if Dreams are just fragments
of fear and desperation?
            Shaped, sanded, and molded.
Neat little blocks
of antediluvian uncertainties.

Out on long walks --
         the kind that's good for the soul --
Sometimes, she had thought of Love;
seeping out from behind tiny suburban windows,
where tired old wives
fight off their beer-crazed husbands.