ode to Friday

a paintbrush would tell a better story

of the leaves darkened into crisp silhouettes against the periwinkle sky

of the waxing September moon like a ghost at 7 pm

of the pinpricks of warm yellow light popping on in windows across the street 

but the picture of a Friday evening in early autumn on the back patio

dinner cleaned up, computer closed, child biking one last loop around the neighborhood

while the crickets and katydids blanket us in a bedspring chorus

can only be painted in a poem

© 2020 Amy Wolgemuth Bordoni