I'm going to try
to be a decent person
by taking the boy
on a walk through the woods
and every goddamn leaf
is blowing off the trees
at the end of peak foliage.
"This is why
they call it 'fall',"
I'll tell him
on our hike at Minnewaska.
"This is how it feels
to be a day late."
They're poor excuses
for what he'll learn later
regardless of my best intentions.
I consider a ride
to the Shawangunk Ridge
with rolls of Scotch in a satchel
to tape each warm-hued leaf
back to its limb for him
or would it be for me?
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