Another Autumn

The silly crawl of weekend days
Feel like they don’t exist
And they really don’t
We made them up,
Just like all the illusions,
that feed our squirming battle for relevance.
The shift might be permanent
The leaves, already yellow,
Sag like old skin on thirsty branches
The late summer draught
Robbed September of its bluster
Bringing a wave of mustard-yellow
Leaves to this valley
Before October has time
To contemplate autumn
I might feel a small twinge of the old me,
When crunchy leaves mean another shift,
A boat lurching beneath my feet
Life keeps doing this, carrying me forward
Without any guidance