Autumn

I should clean a keyboard

dirty from constant use

just as Indians once rubbed buckskin

white with diatomaceous earth

now chlorine tinctured cloths

clean refrigerator rooftops

cleaning time’s detritus away

wiping age from my face

forever

so that I’m young again

strong shouldered

not stumbling

so that I’m hale again

hearty

hawking 

as I stride across a carpet of leaves

fine red cedar needles

a fresh crop since the last rain

Copyright © Dick Russell

       December 2018