Mid Spring Winter comes with sweet insistence.
Falling flake wide like petal of flayed paint,
Soft like spray of dandelion spore, christens
Groaning grass seedling (plump
Bud florist stock breed), rump
Rock pile from home improvement project feint.

We were supposed to to have our fence painted
By this weekend.  The letter warned of fines.
That idle council, declaring suburban
Heresy—dire tone
Of grey flanking our homes—
Proclaimed a ceremonial purge for the times.

Tricycles left in front yards, red white-crests
Play off smooth snow hillocks of soccer balls.
Playground plans, evening sports meets laid to rest,
Schools closed, commutes delayed,
Airport scheduling betrayed,
We stare out of windows, struck, yet nature's thralls.

The moisture is welcome, our water table,
Plunged to record depths, swells in our mind.
Perhaps even the bile-blood councils can muster
Some chill.  Where's the summons?
Court date for reckless tort
Of zero summer, zero spring divine?

© by Uche Ogbuji
28 April 2005, Superior