shittiest time of year

the rains came down so the leaves may carry a slick sheen and they go in groups down the gutter, future fodder for dirt, rebirth

and rejoice with their possum brothers, who rest on water logs

the rains roll down onto shiny highways, batting packing peanuts on the head, and dizzying the dance they made with the wooshing winds from traveling mom vans

and condoms, milk cartons, cigarette boxes, and the rest of the artifacts of the flesh are battered into splatter on the asphalt, abstracting and falling out of form

and tiny earthworms open their mouth and receive the holy reconstituted pulp of cumberland farms receipts

and the rains fall plainly on the seeds who see the raindrops seep into their eyelids, rolling back through the rubble into somewhere more subtle where

the birds who host a garbled chirp may not find them but instead peck at the life left behind in the break down lane

i’ve stopped writing love poems. for the days are long and grey and i see the wet garbage on the streets and the blanched earthworms with their skin slipping into oblivion and my heart does not find me there

but know i will reap the joys of new life, seedlings seeking to be trees in fertile soil, toiling over in warmer weather where i will find a clever, better way to pass my days