Plato on Tuesday
by Wilda Morris

I take a train from Illinois
to DC for a weekend
promising to do homework
on the trip, study
for tests coming up
in American Government
and statistics, write the essay
on Plato my philosophy prof
expects on Tuesday.

But Autumn flies
by the window
calling, Look at me,
look at me.
Indiana and Ohio
are golden, Pennsylvania
trees so red
they burn my eyes.

My stat book falls to the floor.
The pages of my poly sci
text close themselves.
My pen refuses to write.
I am not in a cave
looking at shadows.
This is real,
                   real,

                        real.




Previously published in The Avocet, A Journal of Nature Poetry.