Foilage

Foilage


It starts a far off buzz,
  Louder than any hive or wasp nest,
Yesterday it was down the road,
  Sounds today as it comes from up

It isn’t something we need fear, 
  It‘s a normal noise this time of year,
It’s an orange box pulled by a truck,
  The city sends to take loose leaves

Oh, but first you gotta pronounce it properly,
Here in New England, its called foilage,
  Not foliage, ‘cause
"Guy, you sound like you ah really quee-a,
  Learn how to tawk like yer from hee-a"

I have a poet writer’s physique,
  (Meaning raking leaves takes me two weeks)
And once I’ve brought all to the curb,
  The wind blows more in, “Just Su-perb!”

Now the truck comes humming down our road,
  Shit! This last tarp load - to the street!

Wearing ear protectors big as headphones
  He yells at me,
“You know, we won’t back by again this year!”
  So I yell back over the unholy orange din,
“I know, (between breaths)
  That’s why, (between breaths)
  I’m dragging these here!”

I watch as his elephantine hose sucks,
  In but a few short moments, up
My weeks of work,
  Into this voracious orange box

Great! Now I have to stuff all the rest in tall leaf bags!

Our cat reclines on his sunny porch chair,
  His new coat repels the cool the autumn air,
He deigns to watch me as I rake,
  Gold headlight eyes, so brightly wide, he stares,
My autumn leaves? He does not care,
  He licks his butt, that he rakes clean