Earliest version 1985, when the poet was 16. Revised, retooled, reshaped a bit since then.
Bennington Street Cemetery
When the wind whistles mid-October’s cadence
With solemn decadence,
Autumn begins its brisk and windy backbite,
And Day shrinks back from all-encroaching Night.
Shadows at five o’clock on weathered headstones
Cringe beneath the sun’s
Scowl of an eye,
Blight on the sky.
Don’t number me among the shadows. I’m
Alive and hale, fighting the wrack of time.
I breathe and beat despite
The weakening light.
Poetry by Uncle Meridian
Read 44 times
Written on 2023-08-13 at 04:09
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