Outside the First Presbyterian Church in November
Ginkgoes form an old processional.
Pleased golden paws fulfill their pledge,
a promise to mirror pigment of artful
glass while gray tones echo cut
stone, marching to and from fall mist.
Ancient shapes plaster the sidewalk,
reminders, not pernicious, they once
purveyed a timeless era. Their policy,
these remarkable species, to pave
the ground plane nearly all at once.
Tomorrow no procrastination,
they’ll leave the porous air and ply
their brightness at playing-field level
rather than prickle what’s not broken
blue. If I could sit as still I’d be gone,
too, no posthumous apology, no parade.
Based on a Read Write Poem Wordle prompt using quite a few, but not all of the p-words. (I guess I should tell you which ones, right? Okay: posthumous, processional, plasters, prickle, pernicious, porous, please, procrastinate. I didn’t use seven of the others, but did add a bunch of my own p’s. Or better said, p’s of my own choosing. I don’t own them.)
You want more p’s? Go here (starting Thursday) for this week’s collection from the Read Write Poem community.