by Scott Wiggerman

Our house is full of leaves—not just the roof
and gutters, porch and sidewalks, but the bed
and sofa, rugs and floors. Nothing’s leaf-proof.
They’re everywhere, in every room: leaf-shed—
both whole and pulverized—on desks, on chairs,
on shirts. The cats are little bushes, leaves
stuck to their fur; our shoes are green affairs.
This rain of stickiness that clings and cleaves
to everything? It’s known as honeydew—
too sweet a word for aphid excrement
that glistens honey-like but gums like glue.
It looks like we’re stuck with this pestilent
debris till aphids eat their share and quit.
Meantime, our house stays full of green, of shit.

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