Student

Student
 by  Ted Kooser 
The green shell of his backpack makes him lean
 into wave after wave of responsibility,
 and he swings his stiff arms and cupped hands,
paddling ahead. He has extended his neck
 to its full length, and his chin, hard as a beak,
 breaks the surf. He’s got his baseball cap on
backward as up he crawls, out of the froth

 of a hangover and onto the sand of the future,
 and lumbers, heavy with hope, into the library.
 "Student" by Ted Kooser from Delights & Shadows. © Copper Canyon Press, 2007.

And Now it's October

And Now it's October
by Barbara Crooker
the golden hour of the clock of the year. Everything that can run
to fruit has already done so: round apples, oval plums, bottom-heavy
pears, black walnuts and hickory nuts annealed in their shells,
the woodchuck with his overcoat of fat. Flowers that were once bright
as a box of crayons are now seed heads and thistle down. All the feathery
grasses shine in the slanted light. It’s time to bring in the lawn chairs
and wind chimes, time to draw the drapes against the wind, time to hunker
down. Summer’s fruits are preserved in syrup, but nothing can stopper time.
No way to seal it in wax or amber; it slides though our hands like a rope
of silk. At night, the moon’s restless searchlight sweeps across the sky.

"And Now it's October" by Barbara Crooker from Small Rain. © Purple Flag Press, 2014.