Flameleaf Sumac
 
 The county crews have poisoned the sumac.
 Around each utility pole, it makes a last stand:
 an army of scarlet fury
 amidst the season’s last green.
 The roadside is ablaze with autumn
 come too soon.
 Summer’s arteries have burst, 
 spilling its life-blood through the land.
  
 I drive to town 
 and cannot keep my eyes on the road.
 To my right and left, carmine and crimson,
 garnet and currant fill the ditches.
 There is such beauty in this dying.
 If you roll down your windows, 
 you can hear the song of sumac,
 a bright, expectant elegy that soars across the fields. 
  
 Here among the sumac, 
 I would like to make my last stand:
 a fiery finish glorious enough
 to stop traffic.