Close-In

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The leaf blowers start.

Smell of gas fills the air.

Mounds begin to form.

There’s stragglers.

Spots of yellow and orange

Upon lawns watered

To a suspended green

During the black and white

Months Of summer.

A few flattened in driveways

By the press of a cold front

Still moist.

Only in this moment

Dead streets are art.

 

A Subaru passes.

Kids, mom, phone

Rearrange the gallery

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19 Comments on “Close-In

  1. “Dead streets are art” – so lovely! Great poem! I don’t think id want to walk down the street in the picture, like ruining freshly fallen snow!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Beauty defined is the point where reality and impression collide. Where neither is right or wrong, organic or avant garde. What we see when the world is art and art is the world, eh? The music of the seasons.

    Like

  3. Great pic, Elan–reminds me of kindergarten when we preserved an autumn leaf by pressing (read: ironing) it between two sheets of wax paper. My favorite lines: “A few flattened in driveways / By the press of a cold front.” Since I associate the word “press” with ironing, the COLD front was a nice twist. Effective visual in the closing stanza, too. I could “see” the Subaru blowing by and “rearranging the gallery.” 🙂

    Like

  4. Pingback: Close-In – Elan Mudrow – Cathy Wells – Writer and Editor

  5. From the moment I saw the autumn colored leaves on the wet pavement I felt a breath of fall. Wonderful images in your poetry.

    Like

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