poem submitted to "1503 Oct. Part 2" poetry contest, Brian Strand, sponsor, October 7, 2026.
Outside the corner market, a chartreuse pharmacy sign buzzes above rain-dark pavement. Its color reminds me of leaves caught midway between staying and letting go. I didn't notice old age arriving. Not in the mirror. Not in the slow accumulation of reading glasses, prescriptions, and retirement brochures. It found me instead standing at a crosswalk in a beret cap I once thought belonged to old beatniks. Beside me, a delivery cyclist waits for the light. Across the street, young faces glow blue-white in restaurant windows. The city gathers its harvest~ office towers emptying, subway grates exhaling, headlights filling with dusk. For a moment, anxiety returns, familiar as an address I remember by heart. The traffic signal changes. Steam rises from the grates. The crowd moves on. In a restaurant window, a young stranger walks beside me. For a moment, we wear the same face. Then, dusk keeps his name and gives me mine.
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