The bait shop’s been decorated
with cornstalks and old flags.
Another seasonal war appears.
The leaf wrencher attacks
the futile pushcart vendor.
The fatalistic pharmacist
overpacks his capsules.
Morning mists, like gray troops,
storm the flatlands.
The arc of the earth
and the edge of the sky
clash in thunderous combat.
A sad old woman finds her wave.
Tomorrow the sea will spit bones.