It's not true that April enrages me.
I reserve my violent emotions for March,
that drunken bastard who stays too long,
and spews sloppy snow all over my shoes,
and slushes himself all over my lawn.
No, by the time April arrives,
I am done.
I am spent.
I'm too tired to shake my fist at an April sky.
March has worn me down,
softened me up,
so that by the time April comes round,
All he has to do is show me some tulips,
And just like that--
I
puddle
up.
This was written in response to Big Tent Poetry's prompt that asked us to start a poem with "It's not true that..."
Oh naughty March...makes it so easy for April...love this!
ReplyDeleteBrilliant! That first line sucked me in like a good mud puddle!
ReplyDeleteErin, This is wonderful! xoxo
ReplyDeleteJeanne--yep. April is lucky to follow March!
ReplyDeleteKathleen--thank you!
Annie--thanks! xoxo
Love the idea of March as a sloppy bastard.
ReplyDeleteThanks, DJ. And that's exactly what he is around these parts. :0)
ReplyDeleteDelightful personification.
ReplyDeleteGreat poem. love the anger and the ending
ReplyDeleteThis is a (THE) perfect spring poem. Especially for the NW, although it can be for anywhere in NA, it seems.
ReplyDeleteWell done, that fist-shaking & wearing down.
Kelly--thank you!
ReplyDeleteCathy--thanks. The weather has indeed been making me angryof late.
Deb--thanks! I love fall, summmer, and winter in the inland northwest, but spring just about puts me over the edge.
Really enjoyed this - the message and the way you structured the lines. And I loved the idea of being "spent" and "done" so that you had no fight left in you for April.
ReplyDelete