Life’s Little Misdirections 🥀🦋

Autumn Irony

He took aim at me with piercing blue,
surfacing beneath a wrinkled scowl penetrating
the core my timid humanity.
His admonishing words, deftly crafted to scram!
beat it! struck as arrows do, in a small child heart.

Get out of my yard lifelong bellowed,
by he, master of a manicured lawn
with bright peonies as high as my eye.
From daffodil trumpets in Spring
to shady, symmetrical maples
clumping gutters with a clutter:
orange, yellow, brown, but especially purple,
like my bruised ego where I wandered
wanting to sample with greed a handful
of flowery perfection beneath a wide window.

When he died, so too his craft.
Trees toppled, perfection excavated
for the gleam of a bright swimming pool,
now clumping from unrelenting Autumn irony.

9.5.21/
9.24.21 edit 10.1.22 edit
19 lines



Written for a Fistful of Nothing