Autumn of Vinegar
A poem — on a strange fall season
The trees are sweating still
The leaves have grown ill
The air of oil and rubber reeks
The birds sing for Boreas
Whose eardrums with plastic wax were sealed
The beaches have gone sore
They beg for winter, “Please, no more!”
The autumn blossoms push
their heads out of dry grass
They’re crushed and pulped underneath
The poppies, May Sage, and summer lilies
Who have had their fill of the heat
They look up at the stars at night and plead
“Please, bury us and let the buried breathe!”
The heavens shriek:
“Who would like to breathe some vinegar air!”
The autumn blossoms gasp and bury themselves deep
The clouds have not bathed in two hundred days
Their backs prickle and their sides itch
The days are too bright and hollow
Where there should have been orange, there’s vinegar yellow
October hovered, shrugged, and departed
The dog days, barking-mad hot, never want to leave
The earth now is parched, knobby, and ribbed
The trees that once upon an October
Rattled cornelian feathers for us
Have gone too still, too bitter for spectacle
We are greying for the sky has not yet
We remain delirious, between summer and autumn
— A new, fifth season!
We dance a Rain Dance and pray
May the North Wind, be he blind or deaf, find his way
And bring with him rain, hail, and cinnamon air
For who would want to breathe some vinegar air!
