Stimulus

The wind was hard yesterday
and small bunches of leaves fell,
the same ones which had burned with early scarlet
and stood out amid the stubborn green
of their fellows.

I awaken late
having expected early construction racket,
but nothing is going on.

Last night I promised myself
a good day of work
with some time to myself
beforehand, and it was not to be.

I apologize to the silent dawn
that failed to wake me; I was not
open to your efforts.

Ashes to mud:
gray bottom sheen
inside the neglected firepit.

Dust to demand:
the words “WASH ME”
on the car stand out
more insistently today.

Ignoring for a moment
how much I have yet to accomplish,
I watch the asphalt trucks
and yellow vested men
at last moving into place,
hurrying to complete the street
before the snows arrive.