November waits for you in the parking lot after the bar closes
because it likes to pick a fight
rattles around like the last two pills in
a bottle labeled zero refills
it dims the lights and
rolls its eyes when you object
invites you to dinner but clears your plate before you’re done
sneers and shakes your trees bare
opens your gate and lets your dog out
because it likes to hear you cry for lost things in the dark
scoffs when you put your lights up early
in the hope they’ll guide you back from the edge
November has warned you:
it scrabbles and scurries in your walls
every chilly night
November dangles the last handful of
red leaves over the abyss
and tells you to ask nice
*
Jennifer Blackledge is a Detroit-area poet who works in the automotive industry. She is the recipient of the 2025 Zocalo Public Square Poetry Prize and her work has appeared in publications like JAMA, Rattle, I-70 Review, Kestrel, and more. You can find her work at www.jenniferblackledge.com.
From The Archives: Published on This Day
- Two Poems by Heidi Seaborn (2024)
- Memory of an attic room by Leen Raats (2023)
- Two Poems by Olga Maslova (2023)
- Old Nightingale by Anita Lerek (2022)
- Blame by Karla Huston (2021)
What a wonderful poem. The balance between ode and satire is perfect, and the controlling conceit is explored to the absolute edge.
Yow. That’s a dark view of November. I’m glad my view of November is nurturing.
That’s it exactly. 😉