Fall Comes on Strong
by Steve Lambert
For a heightened sense of mortality,
piss blood for seven days.
Rot is prodigious, a more interesting form of survival
than, say, persistence.
Winter is fleeting here,
shakes you like a baby rattle.
Summer lingers like a bad cold, seeps into you.
Algae bloom, bacteria fester.
But as fall comes on, as the air crisps, it turns cherry red and viscous.
It’s not something that often happens
to men, the doctor says,
writes me a scrip for a ten-day cycle of antibiotics.
By late October, most of us are just into our cold weather delusions.
It gets below eighty and I’m looking for sleeves,
people say. I throw away some of my boxers just in case,
and quit wearing shorts.
I’m out mowing the lawn the first discernible day of fall.
I inhale and get high on it.
It’s just like a beautiful woman passing by.
There isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.
It doesn’t hurt. But I don’t feel right.
Steve Lambert’s writing has recently appeared in Red Truck Review, The Gambler, Silver Apples Magazine (Ireland), The Cortland Review, MadHat Lit and Red River Review. He is a three-time finalist (and third-place winner) in contests held by Glimmer Train Stories, and has been nominated for Best of the Net. He lives in North Florida with his wife and daughter and is an MFA candidate at UTEP.