Lost To College
Morning’s first frost
Ghost sprawled to lawns
Horizon sun
Snowman’s head rolled from fog
The backs of deer
Cut atop the cropped bean fields
Like circling shark fins
On the way
To my last years at work
I wait like any other
As a bus fills up with cut-out children
Red lights flashing
Engine trembling from its hurdy gurdy
The last of our birdies
Has flown the nest
What will be left
Of us?
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