It’s spring, finally
after the coldest February on record
at least that’s what the meteorologists claim
and they wouldn’t lie, after the fact
and televised evidence of folks as they shivered
on camera and complained about freezing
their hind quarters off on the way from the house to the car
It’s spring, finally
and the grass is greening while the neighbors
diligently cut the quarter inch of grass
which has grown since last week
and will do the same, way too early, on
what some would have hoped to have been
the most delicious day for sleeping in, next week
It’s spring, finally
when layers of golden pollen with subtle hues of green
settle on every available surface and allergies force us to shut
the stuff out, windows latched tightly, air conditioning on
while warm days we’ve longed for wait for us
noses pressed on the glass like a sad puppy
whose play we keep putting off
It’s spring, finally
when I thought my sister would be happy and
stop griping about how awful the weather was, yet
she gives hourly updates on the temperature outside
when she comes in from her smokes and she complains
about how unbearably hot it is as my eyes roll catatonically
back into my head and we chase the remaining mosquito who
came in on her, one of many, the lone survivor of our battles
with its comrades, all fallen in their quest for a warm, red meal
now that it’s finally spring.
My Monastery is a Sofa 