Since I complained so much all summer about the enervating heat, it's only fair to shout out the energizing autumn mild. Right this minute it's 75°. There's a spring in my step (as it were) - better than a fall in my future! Giddy, I think of this:
An American Poem
In New York in autumn
leaves don't change. They wither & tumble
or wilt & stay stuck. What's special
is Saturday night.
It's the night
brokers have off
from robbing people
to mug people.
Nature?
One birch after another.
Have a nice trip—
see you next fall!
Which in turn reminds me of a poem I wrote in maybe 8th grade. I praised New York City (where I'd never been): bright lights! big city! The poem ended with this line:
Nature: green emptiness.