—after Ted Berrigan
Even on the 13th floor of a high building, Chicago’s
wind winds its slick way through any unsecured
window on its singsong to the lake. It’s fine-tuned,
perfectly pitched in this sinister season
of cackling jack-o’-lanterns & candy corns
nobody eats unless they’re the last sweets left.
Bags of fun nonsense for all the little ninjas
& ghosts. It’s true, I weep too much when
the seasons partition: snack-sized tears dropping onto
tear-sized leaves swirling in the autumn
of my reproduction. Occasional receipts & parking
tickets, too, yellowed during their own windy migrations.
Like the rest of us gusty apparitions, every
untethered thing ends up at the lake shore seasonally.
Copyright © 2023 by Adrian Matejka. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on February 24, 2023, by the Academy of American Poets.