DOGGEREL--OFF THE LEASH

 

I'm no longer a "pup."

My blood sugar's up.

My knees don't work.

I've lost my ol' perk.

I use a C-PAP.

Utterly CRAP!

Overwhelmed with pains,

Dragging balls and chains.

All whined out and blustered,

I can't "cut the mustard."

Misspent youth—now afar,

But I can still lick the jar!

10/30/23

I TRUST

Each red waif

Wafts to ground,

Fluttering, helplessly, soon

Rotting to death as soil,

Deserting naked fingers

Stretched outward, upward

Toward blue above.

Piles, fluffs, slick films,

Blanketing surfaces.

Darkening, or yellowing, with

Fleeting late October.

Reds fading now, following 

Already-dead bacterial chloroplasts,

Leaving only yellows, browns and grays.

No more greens except for

Ubiquitous cedars, growing anywhere.

Quieter now.

No robins; no swallows; only

Imperious jays, multilingual mockingbirds, and

Woodpeckers hammering,

Sometimes faintly,

On corded gnarl, twisting up

Toward the fingers,

Black against the blue above.

Imperious crows--hollering insistently

In the distance.

Yellow sunlight slants shadows across

The late-year ground. One last gasp of

Warmth as cold rot begins, with

Tiny buds newly

Forming

On bony fingers.

Soon, I trust.

10/29/23