root/journal/2006-09-02

I'm bad with traffic this time of year,
eyes shutting a bit against summer's
autumnward creep, head down in denial
through the DON'T WALK.  I'm sworn at
more than honked at in these weeks
of rolled-down windows and peeled back
sunroofs, a kind of urban intimacy
we kindle, pedestrians and drivers
for once inhaling the same 
unfiltered air.

It's little things now,
the rustle of track pants
foreshadowing leaf vortices
and snappy evening wind,
the sweatshirts and backpacks,
autumn and academy sweeping in,
steppnig firmly.

If I stare hard enough at the empty 
coffee mug by my keyboard,
I can almost rembember
the last day I used it,
weeks ago, the overbrewed bitter
iced coffee, air conditioning
still on turbo, the way I swigged
the dregs and set the mug down
to flip through back issues
of Cook's and Gourmet.

The switch to syllabi, 
to Southern blots and ribosomes
and patient care has been abrupt,
the morning alternation
of powerpoint and coffee breaks,
afternoons at study carrels
overlooking dumpsters
and alleys, new construction
in the distance, chapters
looming in their usual vague way.

I'm afraid a hundred seventy classmates
is too many, enough to lose myself
in niggling front-row confusion
over basicity, nucleophilic attack.
Afraid to isolate myself,
but it's so hard
to break habit.