Regular Poem: spring is the weirdest

3 Apr

spring is the weirdest
season good thing
it’s short

who could stand
ugly green-brown
wind
and hot-cold
flickering lights
and flickering lightning
quick storms moist air
gone and there and gone
“70-mile-an-hour gusts debris:
trash, tree limbs, and tumbleweeds
pea-to-marble-sized hail”
(as the only radio station
that hasn’t lost its signal would say)

for the alotted three months

the answer is nobody

give us our four months
of heat rising palpably
on a car hood

and our four months
of middling frost
with occasional blizzard

and our two and a half months of
orange-brown chilliness
dry hair and dry skin

we revel
in the weirdness
the fog
and wet dog of it

but shortly

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