Year’s end

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Red Doors are closing in on

parched leaves, studding the sidewalks.

We have crossed out yet another season

on our kitty calendar and dressed the meager

backyard in ghoulish rags.

The procession of witches and ghouls

too shall pass and not much else will happen.

Some birds will be washed down with wine and

“thank you’s” and then forgotten.

Gifts shall be found and unwrapped under plastic trees

while a tired old man escapes a make-belief chimney!

We shall cast aside our hopes

and wait with abated breath for next year with

butterflies in our eyes. Nothing much ever happens.