After the Homecoming parade
After the hyper smiles stretched across painted faces
And the swiped clean devils
Retreat back into their moneyed facades
No one’s out on Sunday morning
At 7:00 am.
The rain — spitting, cold.
Few leaves on the ground
Curl around their disease spots like cigarette burns concealed in a palm.
The Smiths in my ears — old friends, so good.
Probably the best thing all day;
After summer’s cheerful sunshine
My heart’s hidden sorrow needs a gloomy Sunday morning
And the deer who notice me
Before I see them
Pause, alert in a pack of five
Leap into the denuded woods …