I find some poems

difficult to read

I’d name names —

that would be rude —

but I think

you know who you are

sneezes bellow —

eyes itch;

nose does, too.

pollen levels

continue to irk.

ragweed not done

with me, just yet.

navy/rust rugby, comfortable cotton —

just a smidge of spandex (why? not a clue.)

oversized but I don’t mind the look

and the autumn woods are calling.

leaves littering the patio

skitter across the concrete,

they tumble and writhe

in an artificial wind

dusty mauve

of my neighbor’s hydrangeas —

a mass of glorious blooms.

might he miss this single snip,

one that adorns the desk

where I write?

late afternoon light,

racing whitecaps

to a distant shore —

the slap on the hull,

the piercing bow

young buck, in a distant wood

scraggly marigolds

& late-season dahlias,

the stonewashed flowers

gracing a faded garden

miniature teacup & saucer

creamy brown and perfect

a tiny pink flower just for me

tiny silver bells

tinkle in a somber wood

nightfall smothers the sound

*

their joyous light continues

despite the oppressive

darkness