Car tires crush crabapples
with the sound of distant cannons
shade trees explode with golden leaves
showering the digging squirrel
his tail doubles as a decoy
for the hawk who circles a stillborn plane
climbing the sky’s pregnant grey
as the sun peeks like a creep
setting without stimulant, silent as a widow
crowning the skeleton trees
where children push a tire
through the street of cider.