the old man goes walking

they’ve girdled a bunch of the trees—
guess they still want a meadow
I’ve always liked the woods
not so much in November, though
brown leaves  bare trees
no birdsong  just rattle and crunch
wind makes the hearing aids whistle
spooky sound  nothing there
damn I wish it was May
bittersweet’s strangled the apple tree—
just wraps around and squeezes
like a python  looks like one, too
I used to sit on that limb
it’s all rotted and broken now
thistles and teasel are choking the…what?
not orchard grass  what the hell did we plant?
Blue-stem?  no  oh damn
there goes a doe
spooked   I’m walking too loud
brittle leaves  dead sticks
like walking on potato chips
I used to ghost through here
sliding my toes under leaves
learned it from that twelve-point buck
everyone wanted to shoot
never heard they hung him from a tree
he just got old   ouch!
damned briars  I’m clumsy now, too   
and what are those?  oh
rosehips, of course  Rose’s hips  
lordy it’s been a long time
sure hope I make it to May