October

by Elizabeth Trew

moves in with foghorn and bells
blows sarongs and scarves
sweeps fallen leaves

it sends out its flares –
sunlight lengthens to lift
the gloom in my house
yellow nasturtiums nod to the bees
ice-blue watsonias bloom in profusion
after the fire

it prances and stumbles
old blood in my hands needles and burns

October steadies and turns
marches towards the union buildings;
a police car is torched
there is blood in the streets.

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