Leaves of Leaves

For Graham Everett

by Richie Narvaez

FALL'S nudged in like a subway backpacker
brusk though not unexpected at this stop
Where did the summer go, the near-nude girls?
If you see something, say something.

Without heat baking the blacktop
the long block home's less smelly,
familiar enough now to navigate in a stupor.
I've a cold six pack in hand, sweet pumpkin ale.

At home I rake up postcards, letters, post-it doodles,
leaves blown across the only lawn I've owned.
I uncover ideas dried, crumbled, some gone to fungus.
Oh, but here are some stamps.

Got Van Halen on the radio for no good reason,
a known beat, lyrics that fly through fuzzy ears.
Packing up for the move. Plenty can be done tomorrow.
Another beer goes down snappy.

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