Leaf tornadoes whirl in funnels
shuffling fronds like playing cards,
I watch ragged edges tumble
into scattered mosaic shards.
But Momma wants the whole yard raked,
says all those leaves will kill the grass.
Let them mulch, is the road I’d take,
But I know not to give her sass.
Begrudgingly, I scrape dead leaves,
stacking leaf-fall for a pyre.
Now I want to do as I please
of work, I have come to tire.
I want to thrash among leaf-waves.
Fling myself into autumn swell,
but Momma sets it all ablaze,
casting for me another spell.
Hypnotized by crack and sizzle,
rapt by irisated blaze,
I embrace the gray baptismal
of acrid tendrils of thick haze.
I stir the bewitching bier,
flinging ashes like fairy dust,
unconscious of spreading fire
until I hear my Momma fuss.
She sprays water. Shames my fancy.
It’s a wonder your head’s not lost.
Smoke spreads a thin transparency
glazing the grass like morning frost.
Image credit: The image of falling maple leaves is a still from YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R7pfCkw6Mbw (Photographer unknown)