The geese draw arrows to warmer weather.
The beagle gazes in their direction.
Gray clouds float sideways. Already severed,
A leaf is shaken by its reflection.
The woods stand sullen - part bare, part wilted.
October’s features are dull and ashen.
You smoke the cigarette down to the filter.
Just one more left – your weekend ration.
Your thoughts are elsewhere – your aging parents...
The space between you cannot be straddled.
It’s overwhelming, and it’s apparent
This fight for time's a losing battle.
Your neighbor struggles with his leaf blower,
You hear him cursing, already reeling…
And it’s not sadness that takes you over,
But rather absence of any feelings.
Not resignation, but clear awareness
That you’re a trifle in this procession.
All calls for mercy, all cries for fairness
Are just digressions, if not transgressions.