A bit of old poetry

How Much Has Changed
The leaves hugged their trees

in the warm nights of Indian Summer,

while we ran the streets, shy and timid.

A chill creeping surreptitiously into

early October air shocked our systems,

and set us to unabashed smoldering.

Across the state, we started small wildfires;

our slow burning put others at unease.

Fall’s brilliant red leaves barely clung to the trees.

Inspired by their fire, we erupted into flames.

Now, the rest of the world sleeps cool and quiet,

as we stay up, red-cheeked and still growing warmer.

Deconstruction

I am surrounded by flourishing gardens, a picket fence -

easy to breach, open. Anyone possessing

eyes can see the dignified home I’ve built inside.

You were blockaded, hiding God knows what

safely behind high, rebar-enforced T-walls

surrounded by fields of daisy-chain explosives,

their tripwire awaiting unsuspecting visitors.

 

You stood just outside my gates, suited up in full battle rattle,

expecting an ambush which I could provide as

I repeatedly extended heartfelt invitations to formal tea,

ushering you in for cozy weekends and home-cooked meals.

Sensing imminent danger, you deployed elsewhere,

to some base where the accommodations were decidedly less lavish.

My incessant wheedling and prodding prompted a single return.

Catching you at liberty proved more effective than months of niceties

at getting you to break down your defenses.

I conquered the new ground, but you triggered the detonation yourself.

Through the dust I caught a glimpse of what you’d hidden so long –

domesticity that I couldn’t see behind all your unbreachable walls.

But the biggest surprise came
when you begun to fortify, rearm our green zone.