Spring Back
Most people love spring.
I don't.
I don't love the puddles cracking open to
their murky bottoms and crusted edges
I don't love the snow that melts and runs and then ices back over again in ugly, uneven patches
threatening passersby with slippery surfaces
I don't love the false hope of sunshine when it's only almost-warm
the way shoes get damp, and then the cold leaches through and stains your socks with a wet that will never, ever dry
and then there's the dogshit
dissolving into the mud, into the sodden lawn
under a dark-edged sky
I don't love the green grass poking up through the fading snow
the burble of a newly woken river
the lyrical voices of birds come home to nest
people say spring is Hope, it's Life, it's yellow chicks portending possibilities
but i only see promises waiting to be broken
in those flowers which are aching to bloom
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