Autumn
You can smell it in the air,
like when one senses a storm approaching.
The epic of your life. . .
Autumn in the Midwest,
the season changing over.
The colorful Maple trees
swaying in the breeze. A retarded man
aimlessly walking down the sidewalk
past pumpkin and squash vendors.
You can see it in his eyes,
death stares back at you.
Nearby, football season
is in bloom. Athletes
crash into one another,
finding glory under the night lights.
We watch.
Spider webs collect in the crevices
of the covered porch. Thick,
white-woven things.
The mother is no longer there
with her broom
to dust them away.
The father sits in front of the tube,
and watches the ball game.
The dog scratches at the door,
wants in.
No longer do you visit one another.
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