School Has Begun

There are nights that I sit on my porch, pretending the cell phone tower in the distance is the Eiffel Tower. The rooftops below me wrestle with a European fog, and not a Cincinnati soot. Mingled are ten thousand bright eyes that wink in hopes of recognition. They reflect in mine that there is a possibility of redemption, but I will have to look for it. And may not find it until the sun goes down.
The dripping rain is the bass, tumbling through the crooked door of a jazz club, becoming the fleeting heartbeat of the hour. Soloists mingle; sirens and screams, making appearances but gone before the curtain rises.
I sit and dream, brought down the earth only by a sudden bark or screech. Shivering, I go inside where reality strikes its fatal blow. Chapter Seven. By sunrise.
Not yet, Autumn. Chapter seven says not yet.