I am originally from Springfield, Ohio, and currently live in London, Ohio. I write poetry to make sense of the world and my place in it.  I have been fortunate to have my work accepted for publication in several print and online magazines.  

​September Ending


Summer is gearing down,
floating into autumn.
It is a brisk and sunny
Sunday afternoon.

The seasonal chemistry of leaves
tests like a litmus,
displays a colorful spectrum.

An ice cream truck
cruises for children
on residential streets.
The theme from The Godfather,
recorded in moog synthesizer,
is piped over a loud speaker
mounted on top.

Shrieking kids
heard through a screen door
interrupt the NFL on CBS.

Football on the 50 inch
high definition television,
armored gladiators
collide and crash
for gridiron supremacy
like bucks in full rut.

Sycophant cicadas 
rattle off sermons
to the choir-boy trees
as they start shedding garments
for the yearly judgment.

A wanna-be renegade
flexes motorcycle muscles,
rumbles through gears
all the way across
this small quiet town.

It's hard to pinpoint when,
but our lives lost luster.

Soon, September
will give way to winter.
By then the bare trees
will stop hobnobbing, 
as gas bills skyrocket,
and moods turn black.

The smell of supper 
will stop mischief for a while
as kids come home
and cats curl near heaters.
Teenagers in hoodies
will try to buy smokes
at the corner food mart
as weather turns bitter.

But now,
a truck's horn sounds off ceaselessly,
the alarm probably tripped
by a neighborhood cat.
People stand in doorways
looking for culprits
wondering:
“for God's sake,
who owns the damn thing?”

For all intents and purposes
the sky is worthless.

Stars in the night
are light years in the millions,
as the birds hold court in the trees
unencumbered by the curse of numbers.

-originally published in Yellow Chair Review