Scarecrow Talking In Autumn
Autumn arrives
Like calloused hands
From Canada,
Squeezing
The summer sogginess
From the air
Like a wet rag
Wrung
From a pail of warm water.
Downhill
From
Its hollow avalanche of wind,
We bang
With brooms
At the shins of the fleeing trees
Like shepherds.
The first scarlet leaves
Are stripped
And flow like rivers
Of snapping piranhas
Vibrating atop the sidewalks.
I put my dog on a leash.
He is not trustworthy
In crowds,
Especially in riots
Of ghosts
That flail
In spiral gales
Like newspaper pages
Sailing back to life
From gutters.
In my garage,
I take my rake
From its hook on the wall.
I stand as a scarecrow in his front yard,
Straw shoulders
Shaking from the introduction.
One by one,
Crows
Gather
And eat from the ground.
A raspy cawing.
I am coughing.
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