The Spring wind just blew in some words
ahead of my Muse. Its a mystery how these things work.
But what more can be said about Spring…
Some of the new neon green leaves can turn an old guy on,
they’re so full of energy.
My Muse said that, I didn’t.
And look how the cherry tree blossoms peek around
the garage with their pinkish makeup on.
Not again. I was going to say the pinkish white snow is already beginning to fall too soon.
That’s what Spring does: flirts with you and then leaves you hanging
before you can steal a kiss.
What’s with you? Stop that.
Oh sure. I thought you wanted a Spring poem with
something that hadn’t been said before instead of:
Oh see the pretty…
You have seen the trees with the little ends of their
twigs turned up, haven’t you?
Well yes, but-
Don’t play coy.
What do you mean, I’m a man not a tree.
Oh for God sake.
And the rosebuds don’t remind you of anything?
No! No they don’t!
And what’s that ice bucket with the bottle of wine in it
and two glasses doing over there?
Well, I was feeling good and thought we might…