AUTUMN SONG

 

It's a time of people gone:

Helen, the street dancer, dead,

Melvin, old black man in the

neighborhood almost as long as

me-oddjobbing to extend his

monthly check. He's diabetic

too, has a foot infected, may

have to have it off, Pete the

barber says. No more scouring

the neighborhood for yard work.

It was his neighborhood too

even though he lived somewhere

else, showed up on the bus

every morning to be fed his

morning coffee by Stephanie

at the bakery. I couldn't

understand half he said, it

was mostly about work or the

lack of it. So he's gone-

another one of those fringe

people, not someone you focus

on, more like seen from the

corner of your eye, hardly

noticing till they're gone.

It's autumn today, the first

chilly grey day we've had,

and Helen's gone and Melvin

and don't forget mad Anthony

who talks to the air and

bums change for beer, his

smell a menace that you're

glad to buy off. Autumn.

People gone, the earth's

immense sorrow exemplified by

the loss of her strays.

The wind mourns, the grey air

troubles the trees and our

thoughts and something in us

is grieving-for Helen,

Melvin, Mad Anthony but

most of all ourselves.

 

 

Albert Huffstickler