Welcome back, Decker.

The handsome little tug W.O. Decker, having had some needed maintenance work, has rejoined the small fleet of historic vessels on display at the South Street Seaport Museum. Here she is, tied up to the Ambrose lightship.

College football quickie.

Unholy exit 9! Rutgers stays undefeated, and probably keeps its place in the top 25, but at the expense of my alma mater.

Goodbye, Pedro.

No complaints. You were vital to our getting here. Now we have to see if we can go on without you. I'm not giving up, yet.

Days of Awe

Hm . . . Memorable . . . what? (He peers closer.) Equinox, memorable equinox. (He raises his head, stares blankly front. Puzzled.) Memorable equinox? . . . (Pause. He shrugs his head shoulders, peers again at ledger, reads.) Farewell to--(he turns the page)--love.
-- Samuel Beckett, Krapp’s Last Tape

In Florida, autumn came
as a change in the light
in late afternoon,
around mid-October.
I hardly noticed it
until I was nineteen.
A girlfriend left me.
I wrote a poem, ephemeral
as the love it mourned.

At sixty, autumn seems
like that last song
by Dave Guard’s Trio,
vocal by Nick Reynolds,
later covered by Sinatra:
vintage wine, days decreasing.

And now, in Brooklyn
(I’ve lived life backwards:
Florida, Manhattan, Brooklyn),
an older voice whispers
gently, to my gentile ears,
L’shanah tovah.