don't forget me when you're old

as i rake

the endless confetti

of leaves,

all colors

except blue it

seems,

i drift back in time

to when

i was a kid,

and an old neighbor

would pay

me

to rake her yard

for a dollar

and a few thin dimes.

i'd gather

her leaves in my

small arms

and place

them in a barrel

then she'd come out

with matches,

tossing a lit one in.

stand back

she'd say.

doesn't that smell wonderful,

it reminds me

of my father.

she'd pat me

on the head and say,

please don't forget

me when you're old.

i haven't.