Last trees of leaves flutter bright yellow
Aviary of canaries freed from their cage
By this morning’s first clash of autumn snow
Birds pour out crumble below
Flatten their wings over the tiny beads
Of their open eyes
Pretend
My little friends
That a sing song can still fly
I claw through my closets and drawers
Discard dress shirts and pants
Suits and blazers
When I’m gone
I don’t want my kids to think
My God the greed we are left to sort through
At the tailor shop
I vowed that I’d come back some day
To undo the waistlines he was hired to let out
He smiled
As I asked him if that ever happened?
“No sir.” He joshed. “No, that never happens.”
Stretches his measure tape to my sleeve
Taps the gold wings of my cuff links
“They could use a good polish
If you don’t mind my saying.”
Categories:
joshed, autumn, bird, clothes, fate,
Form: Free verse