Leaves (Marking the Occasion When a Late Summer Proceeded an Early Autumn):

Veiny, waxy, useless things

(That is, without the slow tide

Of season).  And what’s more:

Fastened to their guardians

Like some animal

Or clumsy toddler

As if it would – could - do something

Wrong

Given the chance.

Dirty, untidy, slippery things

In a constant fidget

And at the mercy of everything;

Reliant ‘til the bitter drop

Then trodden on,

Walked over

And grown:

Grown to be discarded

(I pity with a pointed finger

As many as I can).

Shameless, mindless, soulless things,

I laugh with spite at every one

As October resuscitates

A wheezing September sun

As if it were a last gasp apology

For not arriving

When the season called for it.

I need answers!

(There’s never a judicial enquiry

When you damn-well need one)

Hateful, blameful, disdainful things,

Flip flops kicking

Lifeless piles of brittle mistakes

(This supposed Autumn

Is our supposed Summer)

That nature has not the slightest

Contingency for.

If I could give a rake to

Mother Nature,

I damn-well would.

And when she was finished,

She would be drawn to their origins

Like attracting magnets

And tie them

Back to the trees

Like a mother tying a child’s shoelace,

Knelt with looping reminders

And a double-knotted blessing:

Make sure you eat your fruit

I’ve given you;

Make sure you give Mrs Dyer

Your milk money:

Make sure you don’t float back down to Earth,

‘Til Autumn truly breaks.