New England In The Fall Poem by Tony Noon

The cities are cooling;
debuilding themselves
as the year ripens.

Soon there will be
no towers,
no reliable terraces
cluttered with chat.

Soon there will be
no love
lost in scrap metal valleys;
no room at boarded inns.

Mirrors will be darkened
or destroyed and the ashes
of brown furniture will be
scattered at boot fairs.

Already, where pie crust
promises fell to earth,
rewritten lines have
broken through.

Cajoling us to start again from here.



Tony Noon