Autumn in San Diego
These tumbleweeds
are big as boulders.
Sisyphus,
I need your shoulders.
My arms are scratched
from clearing brush.
The fire inspector's
coming. Rush!
It's fall again.
The wind is hot.
Past years' ash dust
tints my snot
a baleful shade--
gunpowder black--
to warn me
wildfire season's back.
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