September 26, 2010

Write my poem for me

I hate not being able to think of things. I prefer finishing things. Things being poems.
And stacks of essays still needing capital letters placed atop their jelly-stained pages.

It is still not fall in Alabama. I know you were wondering. Hoping, even. We all were.
And yet. And yet. I am distraught and unsurprised to report: Zero corn mazes.
Zero pumpkin patches. Zero hay rides. Zero leaves crunching satisfyingly beneath
my size 13 sandals.


Brandi Wells said...

where's the closet maze of corn?

Matthew Mahaney said...

I don't know. Iowa? I'm going to one in Wisconsin this Halloween weekend like I always do.

LDS said...

Size 13? You have big feet.