If I Ignore it, Maybe it will Hurry Away
It's gotten cold enough for ice to clot
The Elkhorn River. I can see it clearly
Now. In summer, it's obscured by leaves,
But, at this point, in mid-November,
Death and wind have sent them flying.
Autumn's histrionics, its so gaily
Shrouded leaves and afternoons which
Mimic summer's, seem to have been
Curtailed quickly by a winter which
Won't wait. I'm not ready for it yet,
So I turn from the freezing river
Toward the histrionic paintings
Of the Fauves, those wild beasts.
I view them from beneath a blanket,
Yawning uncontrollably. Perhaps,
The best escape from winter is to
Take a nap.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 19 times
Written on 2022-11-18 at 20:25
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)