My sixth-grade teacher, Mr. Drashal,
would write NOVEMBER on the board,
and read poems about death.
finally drop parasite leaves, let them fall
and blow away. If only this town
would do that. Instead it burps
up a new Wal Mart. It’s November
at last, dreary. Thanksgiving,
death on the table, everyone
ready to dig in.
1 June 2013