sugar maple leaves

A huddle of smoke backed up
against the leeward side of McGintry’s,
an overflow of patrons
air-writing anger or laughing
in tag-team fashion
unfazed by the screech of tires
turning the corner of Aiken Ave.,
the spill of arms
from a passenger side window,
the firecrackers,
Bobby’s drunken stumble from the curb.
Until the fall--
and sugar maple leaves
on a silk shirt.