A Warm Fall

In these uncertain times
when the yellow jackets swarm at the front door screen
thumping their Bibles
and the mosquitoes lie in wait
along the shady lane,
it is then that I long for the swallows,
who have flown early, on instinct,
for more stable climes.
Balance eludes us
in this stretch of bonus summer
so gorgeous and so necessary.
There is growing, yes,
but it is eclipsed by excess:
beans on the vine whose rotting tips touch the moist ground
mushy blackberries dangling like sickly ornaments
apples corpulent beneath their trees
the rat dispatched a week ago on the path to the outhouse.

And when the cold snap comes
and the election too,
then things will be decided
(and decidedly colder):
yellow jackets will hibernate in firewood niches
mosquitoes will drop like alder leaves
blackberries will drip to the ground and puddle in the mud
bean vines will be ready to feed to the goats,
who are bulking up for winter coats
and the lesser of two evils
will lead US.