Trigger Warning
What can be more deceptive
than an October morning sun?
It promises new beginnings,
of tasks not yet begun.
But old men dipping biscuits
in weak tea, smiling
to reveal missing teeth,
as they turn from dying leaves,
falling from denuded trees,
don’t think of what’s to come.
They think only of the sun,
of things already done.
True, they’re mocked by
the screech of a hurrying wren.
But when I laugh,
my laugh is hollow.
Yes, I am one of them.