Summer beheaded like it's ISIL's captive, Fall strolls
in with authority
as Winter polishes her earrings, irons
her cowl and prepares
for a long, harsh siege.

Yesterday, while burrowing, an inquisitive
groundhog discovered science as he energetically
chewed through a lazily buried
power line. I caught the smoke
in my peripheral vision, but
was unable to reverse nature.

Charred groundhog smells like a dropped
cigarette after a long solitary night, sparking
up tousled sheets which bred
dissatisfaction between two
people who should not have
met.

The death of this creature is meaningless
in comparison to a
day's activities. Irrelevant in a stream of Facebook
posts, erotic texts and pot roast simmering
on the unwatched stove.

"Probably somewhere there are babies who miss their dad, a mother
wringing her hands in frustrated silence as turnips
stew in vain." she says as she grabs fervently for
my shirt sleeve. She pushes her face into my chest,
exhales and clings to the last good time.

Silently, I brood about February 2nd, the circle
of life, the next five minutes.

09/28/2014

Posted on 09/28/2014
Copyright © 2024 Steve Michaels