Get On with It

As the sun fibs through my window,

light cold to the touch, an

unrecognizable morn to a yesterday

we thought we could trust.

Ample leaves now professionally adrift, cliff

hangers in worn car batteries that start with extra fuss.

Looming doom 'til noon when

the ruse fails and the layers must come off. 'Damn pull-overs.'

Wake up to a haunting breath under a blanket once called comforter,

moon lit grass with frosted tips

check the thermostat--yep, we've had a plummeter.

Bugs that broke in died on the window

seal, blistering shower for the hands to feel

the brisk shock and awe. 'Who turned

down communul fire place?!'

Dust off the forgetten themals off the top

shelf, off with the hat and glove by two for your health.

Summer in a hoodie, autum leaves

glisten in the rays, pedestrian

mood added to the forecast, better

predictor than the dopler radar.

Kicking through the piles meant to be the landscappers last hoorah.

Great silence on the way, today I'll

tolerate whipping wind in into my sunglasses,

morning Joe to saner hassles while

the engine warms. Hypothermic rains

mature the ice cycles that performed

the auroa dispersion on the deck window that faces east.

Lingering summer remains a bane.