Friday, October 9, 2015

Pumpkin Rains

The air smells of rain
and cigarettes,
and exhaust.
But the breeze blows
and stirs the leaves
in the trees.

Orange as fire,
Red as blood,
yellow as a taxi cab;
they find themselves
plucked from their branches
by nature’s breathy wind.

Pumpkins in multitude and
sweater weather
means comfort to my wayward soul.

And I relish next morning
before it comes even as
my windshield wipers squeal away
the droplets of clouds’
sweet dampness.