The End of the Season

There is only this and nothing more.
She shut off the lights and lay quietly in the dark.
Outside a car killed its as two hands rubbed each other for warmth.
A few blocks away the bartender at the neighborhood bar
poured out shots of cheap whiskey for herself and the old man.
A policeman sat in his patrol car waiting for the next speeding
car or suspected drunk driver.
The neighbors next door were mourning their son who
was never going to come back from the war.
Across the street the godless couple sat comfortably
watching a movie together no worse for the wear of the season.
The neighborhood kids who lived in the apartments behind
the house were quiet for once.
The old grandmother a few doors down could only hear
the silence of memory, alone and encapsulating her
more wholly than death ever could.
The streets and freeways flowed smoothly
as bodies everywhere stayed at home with
friends, family and assorted loved ones.
The beaches had grown cold and dark,
the seagulls finally at rest.