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  • Holiday, Poem, Writing

    “the running joke of autumn”

    “the running joke of autumn”

    i wish it could

    be fall,

    because everything

    is  better during fall,

    don’t you think?


    i tend to delude myself

    by believing that

    everything will be solved

    when the air becomes crisp

    like an apple, and

    pumpkins begin to appear

    on doorsteps down the street,


    but then i remember

    [and it hits me,

    like a hay-bale to the head]

    that apples make me sick

    and the cooler weather

    hardly ever bothers

    to show up, anyway.


    and if it does, it lasts

    one week, maybe two

    [if the odds be ever in

    our favor, but i can’t recall

    the last time they were in mine],


    and before i even

    carve my pumpkin,

    the sky turns gray,

    ushering in winter’s

    soul saturating rain.


    though i know this disappointment

    will always haunt me,

    much like the halloween maze

    i once went into

    at that neighborhood party,


    i pretend.


    and i pretend well,

    for i may not be

    good at many things,

    but i am terrifyingly good

    at pretending.


    at taking out

    my pumpkin spiced candles

    and turning down the air

    until the bill

    is far too high.


    i play the music,

    faking the perfect

    autumnal mood board type life

    i have dreamed of since

    i could use words like



    but year after

    painfully consistent year,

    fall never comes.


    and though my geographic location

    used to be the reason why

    i could accept the absence

    of changing leaves

    and in-between sweaters,

    i no longer believe

    a word the weathermen say.


    as far as i

    am concerned,

    the odds are stacked

    against me,

    and the lack of

    my favorite season

    is assuredly mother nature

    using her powers

    to laugh in my face.