Late October

I am your rainy incident
that catches you
without an umbrella
so you order a second
double espresso
and write
your autobiography
in a chicken scratch code
on a brown napkin
sending all of your emotions
out to right field
during the World Series
with the hypothesis
your emotions
had one game-saving
over-the-wall catch
left in its marrow
before a field
of thistle seedpods
burst open
like clouds
that cause delay.


copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney

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