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.