Winter by Brian Duncan

The pumpkin sags softly over the porch rail.
In quiet corners, brown leaves huddle.

Black sheep winds probe walls for weak points.
Leaden sky hugs iron ground.

Hunched figures, arms drawn tight, search for warmth.
Squirrels make last-minute forays.

Pale sun leaves no mark,
no memory.

Brian Duncan lives in Kendall Park, New Jersey with his wife, Margie, and two cats. He worked in a virology laboratory at Princeton University for many years and is now happily retired. He enjoys devoting his time to poetry, gardening, hiking, and reminiscing.