a pumpkin head

a cool ocean of air roughs up my hair 

i'm coasting down the steep driveway

i make an abrupt left turn and i'm saying hi to Frank as he checks his mailbox and throws away a bill or two and suddenly i think of Chris when i pass the place she once called home 

there are hints of ice on my face 

i feel the temperature drop from our Martian heat of mid-summer which melted skin and sagged spirits there are deep brown leaves and random tiny sticks 

a frosty litter drifting and shriveled like dehydrated dreams from once upon a time 

discarded by mother and tossed and turned cracking with the weight of their dying and being crushed underfoot 

underneath my tires a rubber blur to their sad unapologetic eyes the hard macadam hums 

i see the corn fields freshly cut and a few bright yellow ears yet remain survivors of an obliteration campaign on this Saturday afternoon bicycle ride on an early October afternoon of late autumn 

i feel the frozen locker of winter down the aisle 

i see it's face in this harvest 

am i ready for the change? 

an cloud of minor thought escapes from my nostrils as I exhale,  condensing as trailing crystals a premonition of February perhaps and the snow 

i pedal i pout i ponder i pursue 

i am riding directly across the great western prairie under an American sun on a college football day 

past blue houses with argumentative gasoline mowers cutting grass and weeds and into time which will not return however much their is hope  

i wave my hand, no one seems to notice 

no atomic bomb blast blowing hot annihilation winds has brought this farmland to an early end no plague nothing unclean no evil minion no desperation no panicked scream 

these corn stalks were man-cut brought down to Earth with a single-minded purpose 

i watched a Ford convertible drive out of Rheems with three riders inside bundled in their winter wear with hats and neck scarves tuning their radio to tune out their thoughts they seemed very serious about musical enjoyment as the car's heater warmed up, bobbing and bouncing and solemnly nodding they drove toward a small star sitting high over the distant horizon radiating indifference

i could not maintain their pace, but i could smell the exhaust from their chrome pipe as the car disappeared from my view 

as this was the month of Halloween and transformation,  i considered a neck pumpkin (my grandmother Esther had a recipe for a pie and it always went well) as i weaved in and out near a pumpkin patch with orangeade filling my mouth 

i wiped my chin, then saw an open backyard pool it had two chairs close to the diving board where a poetry reading was taking place:  they were empty, but i saw a beard floating on the turquoise waters 

it pointed to the east toward Mount Joy, a neighboring town,  so i went in that direction 

a flower fell on the road i stopped to pick it up 

the street sign said Whitman Drive but it was a dead end, and suddenly the traffic came close and a red stop sign at a difficult intersection became my warning to slow down i looked right and left and straight ahead and considered turning around, but decided to rest under the shade of a nearby tree, up a slight rise,

where i could sing a song of myself 

the shade was of a soft grey 

the leaves of grass

i decided to wait for a friend and no one passing by seemed to care that i was wearing a pumpkin head.