Fall Poem 2.0

Fall is coming
I can sense it in the 

cooling of the air 

and in the falling of 

children’s faces.

In fall the sun

is super shady,
always coming
and going,
slinking behind
the clouds,
leaving work earlier
and earlier each day.

The autumn rain reminds

 us of the sorrows of 

life and Guns and Roses.
The wind whispers: 

Modern Family Season 

Premiere Thursday Night!

In fall, the earth provides
a splendid harvest:
squash, pumpkins,
Pumpkin Spice Lattes,
candy corn, hot dogs, 

"Maize."

Fall spells trouble
for leaves on trees
whose life is senselessly
sucked short while we say,
"oooo, how pretty!"
What if it was a small child
whose face turned yellow,
brown, orange: would we think
that was pretty? (Probably).

Fall is spooky:
Horrifying monsters creep 

forth from their layers* 

emitting horrifying screeches

some call campaign speeches.

The male populous, 

on Sundays receives 

a hypnotizing signal from 

beyond compelling them 

to stare for hours at bizarre, 

imbecilic creatures who smash 

into one another in a fevered
hunt for pig flesh.

Soon fall will dim and 

winter will come hither.
We’ll replace our rakes
with hypotherrmic shakes.
But until then, let our apples
bake, crisp and ferment.
And let us dive headless-long into
the mortally wounded
mounds of autumnal merriment.


*also known as tax shelters