Gail Denham

Summer Slips Into Fall
 

Burning leaves and crackle piles
for diving kids – a part of our past.
Now it’s black leaf bags with pumpkin
faces, lined up for trash collectors.

Still, a touch of autumn memories
remain. Aspen leaves clap rattled
songs. A forgotten drift of cast-off foliage
fills my desire to shuffle and crunch.

A different color paints the air,
lunch pails clank against small bodies,
school buses hold up traffic
and mothers do grateful dances.

 

Squash
 

found poem
 
Dressed in oranges, red, light
and dark greens, pale cream, with warty
skins, squash stands in for pasta,
and manicotti, with hazelnut mole.
 
Is it any wonder we grab corn ears
to celebrate the end of summer? Steam
corn, team it with a college-educated
cabbage or potato head; there’s a meal
real people can understand.
 
Not warty, pal, or smooth yellow
string squash that someone tossed
in your open car window on Sunday
while you sat patient in church.