September Poems (2023)

Just a Metaphor for Seasons Changing

Summer ended yesterday.
It's funny, it felt like it just
began (don't think too hard, this poem is
just a metaphor for seasons changing).

Now come the days as
the deciduous leaves
fall under your feet, stomp your boots to
crush them, laugh when the apples fall.

The wind is an in-between, a mediator of summer and
winter: brisk—it chills you, but forgivingly.
Just put on a sweater and you'll forget you get the chills.

I hope that the autumn here is as good
as it was back home.
I can't wait to wear
brown flannels and clean my white shoes.
Then my classmates might notice me, but before you know it
the semester is over and I'll never see them again.

But don't be too hard on yourself, relax, rest
in the cool rolling in like a front of clouds
and ask your dad for a ride,
if he's running late you can
always walk; the trees are
so colorful this time of year (I won't
explain to you what the trees are a metaphor for,
you'll have to figure that out yourself).

What's at stake here?
My pride, perhaps
another viewing of the sunset as the sky roasts the clouds.

I'm worried that by the last day of fall nothing will have changed.
I thought you hated change!
No silly, I only hate it when I have it;
I love it when I don't. You should know this by now.
Why?
Because you're me!
I don't know you.
We've known each other for over nineteen years.
And yet, I still hardly know you.
How strange,
your smile looks so familiar.

(The trees are just another metaphor for
seasons changing. Nothing more).