Acorns

By Buff Whitman-Bradley

Like tiny daredevils 
The acorns leap from high up 
In the large oak tree
And land with a clunk or a small thud
In yards and gardens
On streets and sidewalks
On rooftops and parked cars
And occasionally on the noggins
Of neighborhood strollers.
At night when all else is still
They lie in the dark
Bragging to each other
About their courage and derring-do
About the great altitude 
From which they launched
And the mischief they caused
When landing –
A cracked windshield
A startled dog or cat
A pissed-off pedestrian
Looking around angrily
For the kid who threw the rock –
But the tough-guy talk soon subsides
And the rowdy dive-bombers become 
More wistful than boastful
As they begin the long slow freefall
Into acorn sleep
Murmuring dreamily
How sweet it would be
To cling once more to the highest limbs
Then plummet to earth all over again.

Buff Whitman-Bradley’s poems have appeared in many print and online journals. His latest book is At the Driveway Guitar Sale: Poems on Aging, Memory, Mortality. He podcasts at thirdactpoems.podbean.com and lives with his wife, Cynthia, in northern California.