November

The newspapers are put away

After a cursory look at headlines

For they are bearers of bad news

With the government asking us

To trace paper trails gone cold

But they can be put to other uses

And fetch useful cash when sold,

The weather reports on television

Are much more heartening as they

Forecast more rain and even a cyclone

That will probably blow us all away;

The artificial flowers in the vase bring

Colour to the room and ask little back

They do not move with the seasons

Defy time, unchanging in their corner,

Siblings post readymade messages

Of affection and evergreen memories

On smartphones but remain remote

With little to say when they are called,

Perhaps they are afraid of reviving ties

That death, fast approaching, will sever

The November sun is cool like the moon

Invites the feet out for a walk past trees

That have withstood storms and summers.