Call the roller of big scarves and let the wenches dawdle in such sweaters. Take from the oven the peanut butter cookies and spread them so as to cover your face.This is no time for cold, cold ice cream, unless it’s melting on top of hot, hot apple pie.This is, however, a time to mess up beloved poetry, in this case cleverly inserting full-bodied, seasonal nouns in place of Wallace Stevens’ existential corpse-side metaphor.November means heavy down comforters, sudden desires for stew and darkening tennis dates.