I’m standing in a pumpkin patch
on Friday morning, watching some rot

even though I can’t perceive the progress
to the blackening, to the bottomless depression,

and the crawling scavengers enjoying
the pulp while I ponder the significance

of being here at 10:30 a.m. in October
without work, esteem, or income,

still like these gourds ready for Halloween
harvest, possibly staving off deterioration