It’s October, I Suppose

by OWLcreek

Posted to Poetry on 2003-09-01 13:10:00

You’re through with me this fall
as moths leave our black walnut
for the back yard light.

A fellow with fire to share
returns your call. You take your cell’
to the yard’s east side
where breeze lays waste to linebreaks.

One moth
flits to fan
the front porch lamp
as you leave.

There’s the cricket’s din. It’s an honest racket.
You and the moth are thick as cons,
and whisper
blanket to blanket.



© Dan Tompsett