Last of the celery
Last of the squash
Last of the purple beans
A cool front arrives in a rainy rush
And the warm summer temperatures drop to the teens*
The daylight’s gone early
So I close the blinds
As essentials get off of the bus
And I take the last vegetables
Pulled from their vines
And make a stone soup
In enveloping dusk

The last of the summer
The last of the sun
The last of late evening warmth
The rushing rain seems to be eager to go
It leaves like the cooks
And security guards
Who like the rain don’t linger long
As they get off the bus
They shiver and hunch
Pull up their hoodies
And hurry off home

OctPoWriMo #12

One thought on “Stone soup

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