Sunday, November 22, 2020



The leaves have all fallen
And the cachectic trees
Are swaying in the wind,
Scratching at the gray soiled sky
Swish swish swish
Like witches' brooms,
Impossible to get clean.

It’s hard to get out of bed when it’s cold.

Splash some water on your face,

Run barefoot across the frost

To fetch a package from the mailbox.

A shot of bourbon just before you shave.

November mornings don’t fuck around.

They wait for no stragglers.

Get your boots laced,

Choose a bold tie,

Pick a proper face.

But the deer find a way to disappear

Even in the stripped down

Skeletonized winter wood.

Use what you have;

This broken stick is a wand.

The sky will clear, the sun will come.

Just be patient, just wait.

The haze will burn away.

Soon, arthritic knuckled branches will be flush

Again in green leaves and white blossoms.

When the wind hisses and pierces

Be the one who laughed

While everyone else scoured and scrubbed

A perfectly clean glass.

And that may be enough.

If anyone asks

You'll say it's just witchcraft.


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