Out of Season
Weeks before her calendar's permission
Spring sneaked up on me,
leaped into my step
a little rusty
and hesitant
at first
leary of my frantic nature
my busyness
divided between Winterizing
my cardinal feeder
Summering on my virutal patio
Falling so deep into the soup
du torture gray of these Ohio skies
that any dash of seasoning
would have torn my tastebuds
set my synapses on fire.
I let my guard down
and he who works so
hard for me
in his security
burdened mind
assumed I was
impervious
to such
distraction.
Oh, but how his hidden camera
was out of focus!
As Crocusses and earthworms
bushwhack my own back yard
petrified dogshit forest,
the sweat of Spring seeps
from each pore of leaf,
budding or rotten,
into a stench
I recognize
as birth.