Autumn

the geraniums are struggling now
like our love
the stoat lies squashed
flattened as our summer dreams

the sun rises like an egg
one of those watery ones
it has no heat
nay, not now

incessant rains have washed me clean
of optimism
while in her flooded burrow
the coney waits

clenched bite of weasel
sends her to the surface
full fur flying in a blur
sharp-eyed harrier has its tea

if we watered them
fed them nitrates
they would flourish
once again

with fragrant sighs and whispered murmurs
you give me hope, for the spring
give us a kiss you stupid prick
is what you say.

Dr. Maroon