An Brief, Ugly Autumn Poem

Outside, autumn’s bare trees sift through wind

with a dismal grace only bare trees can afford.

Your neighbor’s cat pounced upon the last remaining songbird,

a meadowlark,

and now a string of feathers tumbles eastward

across your tawny grass.

This is not a pretty picture,

but you and the sun stopped being judgmental at the end of August.

-- Mitchell Hegman