early march

by underswansea


A brisk wind not unusual
grey or white landscape, even at night
it’s good practice to keep your feet on the snow
the rest may look like spring but it’s thaw
wet or ice, slippery as greased cat shit.

Even the trees are leaning
like they’ve had it
saying, let’s get on with it
we’re tired of no birds
and the same old squirrel
up and down
up and fucking down.

Damn those birds anyway
they seem to have it all mixed up
robins in January
not a hint of waxwings
stripping the mountain ash
chickadees skittish
and eagles waiting for death
instead of taking matters into
their own hands.

There ain’t been a clear night since January
there’s no telling what the stars are up to
the Milky Way should be turning
coming up parallel to the mountains
if you can’t see it now
you never will.

Sure the moon is up there
near sick from not shining
still the wind melts and chills
through leafless trees
caught bare assed
between seasons.