Poems / poetry / verse

Autumn has come. The top deck
of the 199 rolls through a black rain, throws me
sideways on the stairs, a yellow bar
greasy in my hand. I wake to a cold sun
from a sleep filled with horrors
a stroke ward, the hard face of a matron
a gentle admonishment in her voice
"Sometimes you do things well
but sometimes you do things very badly"
she rolls the bed away.
I lie numb for a while. The leaves
on the chestnut tree hang limp,
newly yellow, and I thank the world
for beautiful things. The birds that remain.
A new tree that grew this year. A man
backing his tesla into a low wall
with a soft crunch.