Here we go again, yet another snow in March!
I lie here on the bed, trying to remember what spring looks like.
If I was convinced that rage or crying in disappointment
Would put Old Man Winter six feet under the ground,
Then I’d rage against the blowing wind
Before I go outside again to shovel another eight more inches of snow.
Sometimes I don’t hesitate to take the losing side.
I’ve promised my dog three times that this would be last snow.
Now she no longer trusts me when I walk her late at night,
Sliding down the road as though it’s the first snow of her life.
I do a shaky dance, suspended in mid-air,
Then fall right on my ass, while she listens to my despair.
At first there were red birds,
But now they’re all blue.
The only robins I see on the lawn
Are those who flew back sick from a Carnival cruise.
I wake in mornings and look outside,
My heart is warm but my mind wants justice.
If this keeps up, I know last trick….
I’ll take down my Christmas wreath!
I know it’s past its prime by now—
In December there were two white doves on top,
But now there’s only one— the other flew down south.