So Much Coming

Down the pike, seasonal traps, and festive lures trundle in, weave ways through orange barrels, past Red Lobster’s neon’s a surf and turf backwash of traffic. Pumpkins drop dead gradually. Bedside Halloween costumes, seams worn to a frazzle, no longer dazzle. Yet we cheer for the sexed-up masquerade with its side-offering of ghoul-masked kids. A sidewalk Santa fumes; gives us the finger behind his sandwich board. Shoppers both freeze and simmer in puffer jackets, coalesce in electric clumps. Strip Mall's hum and glare. Plows push a gathering sludge from here to there.