three weeks after
the season is quickly changing
and most of the houses
are dark by 8pm
it’s hard to say how many
are abandoned
voluntarily or otherwise
the streets are littered with what
the winds left behind
there’s hardly any room
for any kind of truck to pass through
the smell of mixed wood abounds
whether freshly cut
or burning miles away
hundreds of wood chip pyramids
magically appear overnight
the carnival was supposed to be in town
(a fresh change from
all the other outsiders)
but it was abruptly cancelled
just like everything else
august two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
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