Sunday, September 25, 2022

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

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