Spring

A gummy sky, sick feet faltering

through Shaw’s. Picking between

two compact parking spots and

the indecisive fever of traffic

take the place of passion. I don’t

have a response anymore to leaves,

the acres of calling in them, the petals

unrolling for why not me? In another

spring I fell in love, walked slowly

through cemeteries feeling something.

The dog darted into the street and stopped

just short of traffic and it was an omen,

as was the drunk smiling daily to and

from O’Brien’s, books left on my

doorstep, my cynicism finally turned

to something more like a question with

raised ears, faltering, falling, not

quite getting up but trying.