A Man Alone In The Rain Poem by peter rodenby

Rustic rug,
the multitude
from a once green canopy
fallen foliage rustling corpses
a bronze battalion brushed into piles,
casualties of the changing seasons.
Wind challenges the work of the road sweeper
resurrecting their corpses
a sort of brief immortality.
A labour of lost endeavour
A man alone with a broom in the rain
working with the elements
while the leaves are washed
and the side walk becomes slippery with their skin.