I Missed The Autumn Poem by Jean Bernard Parr

I was cynical this year
about falling leaves
raging about corporations
motor insurance, worn tyres
and then I nursed this
purple bruise like I was
raising a child and so
the weather turned
and all that helter skelter
those golden armies
were just more enemy
to make you slip and slide
and there is me
who missed the autumn
stealing into dank garage
where in a corner
piled inner tubes of
dark intestines grew, I
genuflect before
the gleaming altar
on which my wounded car
is offered up
I have missed the autumn
instead I sit in the middle
of a faery ring of
scaredy-cat things
accident prone, old,
chilled to the bone
hunched over this screen
but now Im looking on eBay
for a riflescope, and wearing
the ghost of a grin,
I want one
with low light illumination
to zero in teenage
and kindle a thrill
not kill but spy
on what goes on at dusk
creatures banking on
seeing the year out
little mounds with
furry tufts, they do
better than me
who missed the autumn
my rage at corporations
this blue barrelled rifle
will rust in a cupboard
when they've turned me to dust