Don’t bother

They’re here

Move over, Stephen Sondheim.

Have I got a song for you.

Write an elegy for the end of summer, the last picture show of orange sun and cappuccino flesh and verdant leaves of grass.

Autumn elbows in, impatient for its stage cue.

Here it comes. Enter, laughing.

Send in the clowns.

I thrive on the page and stage, your presence and pleasure from things I share give me air and life. Applause is an upper.

“I can see it from my house.”