Paul Maitland

The Fall of Autumn

As Autumn rolls from her summer hammock,
primps and dyes her pumpkin curls
wanting the grace of face, as apples
dangle crisp cold lures over schools
of open-mouthed boys, as maple
leaves dress for eye-treats and plot
tricks for rakes, as aired-out corn
elbows for elevator space,
as asters blaze blue wildfire
across brown road ditches
—head-turn-look-out-for-that-buck—
as dew on fading lawns whitens
like dandruff like old men’s hair
dissolved to bare, as birds join
seed and suet chow lines gorgeous
fat for flight or frost, as turkeys
gobble so we can, too, and grandma
scrubs her roaster, as dark encroaches
daylight and grandpa barns last bales
of hay, so Autumn stretches, groans,
climbs her creaky stairs, quavers,
teeters, leans out, topples forward
and falls unto white sheets of winter.

Paul H. Maitland Jr.

Red and white swirls
Original as a summer green plant
Santa all dressed up
Small little gifts to sweet children
wrapped in coffee, hot chocolate, and ice cream concoctions
My spirit is energized
My heart alive
My breath is fresh
I crunch it in my teeth
Split in a hundred slivers of joy
Feeling satisfied
Yet wanting more
So glad you exist
Can you guess?
It’s peppermint

@2017 Carolyn Gunn