Is There Any Pie Left?

  The Fall

is beginning to settle in

colder nights and mornings

extreme tides          

dry air and offshore winds

Known locally as the Santa Anas

they rattle the windows

as the trash cans

roll merrily down the street

ants 

but oddly no uncles

roam the house 

in endless trails

looking for water

or food

or just looking

my skin

this parchment

with the details 

of my life inscribed upon it

the folds and cracks

each a chapter

now a new season

as dry as the leaves that cover the walk

The seasonal madness

the masses

are rushing around 

holding plugs up

gearing up

a siren slowly starting to wail

23 shopping day until xmas!

and still nothing for uncle harry

panic in the air

Black Friday

the day the balance sheets

for retailers everywhere

are finally 

in the black

Looms 

like the glowing

capitalist beacon 

that it is

the real questions

on everyone’s mind

yet on no ones lips

looms large...

"is there swell?"

"where are my wool socks?"

"is there any pie left?"