Just like that, the home team
punts—and another summer's
florescence shrivels.
The home improvement store
hauls boxes of gourds
and dimpled pumpkins out front.
In the park, an almost
chilly wind thrums;
a stubborn toddler's nose is tickled.
But rather than sneeze
from the windblown spores
of autumn mold,
she blinks her wide eyes
and shivers out a squeal instead—
because she knows,
from the tresses of auburn
that loosely overlay her head,
that though the afternoon
sun grows long,
there's still no way
that she is the one
getting old—at least,
not really.
At least, not yet.
