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October Nips
Busty shaped and large of hip
the busy winds of October
buffet my brain
within its whistling cave.
Around the shoulders
of every lumpy molehill
taverns and tankards
bloom in a russet corner of light.
September leaves
leave, shaking their brittle cuffs
and frills,
they fly sideways
riding upon broken rafts
of tangled sticks.
October blusters as it bustles,
its wide-spread mouth warmed-over
by wafts and beery blasts.
Now is the time to flap long coats,
to run ahead of a creaking moon
as it rolls drunkenly
into winters nippy
and thin-lipped ice.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
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