Without My Permission
by Estelle Bruno
The summer’s extended absence
Without my permission
Winter – an aching void in my bones
Drain the pipes, cover the pool
A squirrel drowns in a puddle
On the pool cover
Without my permission.
Where has the fruit wagon gone? Indivisible.
The burnt angry orange foliage remains.
I leave, lift my head high,
Remember the greening will come again.
* * * * *
"Without My Permission" was first published in The Long Islander: Walt’s Corner (May 1, 2008)
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