The Hussy

The ginko round the corner wears a hint of pale gold

high in her branches which means that Fall is coming,

and as is her custom, she’ll change color in the dark

while only the moon dares look, so that Monday she’s

green and Tuesday she’s yellow, then come Friday

she’s bare, not loosening her leaves one by one in

slow studied spirals over months of shortening days,

but all at once she’ll drop them like Kanye’s mic and

stand naked with arms outstretched inviting the stares

and disapproval of oaks and poplars whose surrender

to the season is methodical, predictable, and dull but

seemly, though what they mutter behind her bare back

whenever the wind stirs, about her being brazen and

shameless and unmannered would sting if she cared

to listen, but she doesn’t.


© Dana Hughes

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