Ode to September

By Alan Britt

A chilly wind's white
mantra ray belly
curls across the blue sky,
if you're down
looking up.

A nearby ambulance displays white teeth
and bad disposition.

A volunteer fire alarm
suddenly ignites the sleepy neighborhood's match head
then gradually burns down.

Crows leave hair-line cracks in the overcast afternoon.

Their squawks crumble
around the filthy white porcelain feet
of my patio chair.
           

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