and
in
Unjust
fall, when the
world is leaf-lovely,
the little old lame balloonman
whistles far and wee — and eddieandbill come limping,
catheters tangled, and it's fall, when the world's mulch-marvelous— and bettyandisbel
crawl from nursing home beds, Jell-O cups in shaking hands…
notice how the strange balloonman
has goat's ears and horns,
a tail, and
hooves, but
no
Pan-
flute;
his
off-key
whistling is
laced with a chill draft
that rattles one's bones, head to toe;
and as greasepaint-cheeked children chase lengthening shadows
to the harvest moon, underfoot, the red-orange-gold leaves mixed with pinecone shrapnel hide
insect armies, waiting to feast on those who once ran
from marbles and piracies, danced
from hop-scotch and jump-
rope, their breaths
run out,
stone-
still.