Spring

Spring

spring
how tedious
every year you
promise and deliver promise and deliver
drop a few calling cards before your curtain even parts
tentative whistle of young cardinals
piercing shiva of titmice
in february
then you break
a few beaver dams
float sticks down the slow river
scatter bluets in patchy grass on the road turnout
like a fall of hail
and lasting just that long
you breeze in like the first child to the christmas tree
open all the packages
and scatter the wrappings about
tiny petals and gummy red maple flowers and mourning cloaks
and just when you become so full of yourself
leaves grown fat with your rain
too many chickadees
and deliquescent mushrooms
overburdened by your own sticky abundance
in hot disgust
you pack your trilling into summer
leaving her to set a heavy blanket over the mess
and start all over
replacing the bits you used up in a few short weeks
setting it all right again
and making sure
that next year
you again
will get all the credit
and each year
despite your excess
you make me grin
when I think no one is looking