October Muss
Along with skittering crimson leaves
and the horse chestnut’s conkers,
waiting for a pocket,
The annual remains of walnut feasts,
Piles of green shells
With deep brown dye,
Speckle the sidewalk, patio, drive
Autumn’s ephemeral abundance
A treasure to my eye
A mess to yours
But why?
Squirrels know that
They who cherish
Their ponderous cement
Are the ones who stain the landscape
With their mass of impervious surfaces
Which they will replace anyway
When it crumbles
No desire for archaic remains
No weatherworn castles for them
Just crisp, smooth, clean
Modern, manufactured stone.
— Sarah Morse
sagestreets 