True story: I once trick-or-treated as a victim of domestic violence (middle school… good times).
Tonight’s poem!!
Autumn, again. (And again.)
The breeze was cool this evening
and carried the scent of browned and dried leaves
already smelling of the earth
though they still clung to branches.
My jacket did what it could, but the breeze still
chilled me to the core;
but isn’t that the best part of
autumn, anyway?
I read about scientists who theorized
that a particle in the future could
prevent its own making
in our present.
And I wondered
when they could market this
and sell it to me
and let me feel
chilled to the core
as I tour all the autumn breezes in the history of
my youth.
(Would this be a sci-fi poem? Can I be excused for the lack of Klingons?)
