excuse the rustle

You there, measuring
worth in French cuffs
unable to discuss
the art of burning leaves
in a backyard pit, the smell
reminds you of nothing, the rustle
of ten thousand on the street
only gets in the way
of your feet
as you run
in wicking shorts,
and blinders.

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6 thoughts on “excuse the rustle

    1. Carpets of gold and red and orange. Crunchy, fragrant carpets. Am thinking it’s been a while since I raked a pile big enough to jump in! ;)

  1. Today my 88-year-old client, a Navy veteran of World War II, took his usual afternoon walk with me around the neighborhood, both of us scuffing through the fallen leaves. Thank you for your poem and photos!

    1. Leaves and poetry. It’s that time of year. It’s always beautiul. What’s more special, though, is the privilege you have to walk with that generation of eighty somehings…. Thank you so much for lovely words and sentiments!

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