icebergs

don't tell me
it's october,
she says.
i don't need to
hear that.
nothing good
happens
in october.
we lie in bed,
backs to each
other, cold
and white like
two icebergs
trying to separate
and float their
own way.
what about
halloween,
i ask her, that's
fun. you're
right, she says,
that's when you
put on a mask.
october is not
all bad.