ugh

friends in need today
but i don't know how to help
feeling quite useless

insomnia

cant sleep. not sure if
it's pollen, stress, or the
impending weekend

best seat in the creek

a delicate perch
precarious among rocks
a picnic table

froggy went a-courtin'

from darkening woods
the spring peepers sing their song,
"pick me! pick me! me!"

who?

mid cent'ry modern
ice bucket pierces me with
a metallic stare

cranky

I'm out of control—
can you still call it road rage
if you're at a desk?

the rain starts

rain against windows--
drops chatter, flicking wet tongues
hard against glass panes

the yellow stuff

No foolin', you know that
I'm all for trees and whatnot,
but pollen must go.

I swear, I can feel
the structure of each wee grain
with my inflamed eyes

trailblazing

ants in yellow hats
work roadside in rock creek park
restoring old trails

a fine mesh covers
the surface of the creek with
a net of bubbles

dazed

up since three am,
the world is slightly glazed,
krispy kreme lenses.

sunday

alas, too too soon
the weekend passes and it's
monday once again

for saturday

distracted by sun,
and by charming company,
poems aren't timely

for thursday, friday

"a day late and a
dollar short" with seventeen
syllables for thurs.

on days like today,
"make hay while the sun shines" is
more than a proverb

green

i AM wearing green,
gosh darnit, shoes do so count
for St Patrick's Day

warm

it seems sudden,
a swinging switch in seasons,
certainly springtime!

monday

today it seemed
a weekful of mondays was
crammed into one day

Sunday

shrimp po'boy and beignet,
cafe conversations with
mom and the rain

spring forward

daylight savings time—
change the clock at 2 am
on a rainy night

earthworms

"earthworms are easy,"
or so the 80s song says,
dancing in the rain

thursday

i can't get started
supremely unmotivated
total inertia

snowdrops

where Sunday was snow
today crisp snowdrops blossom
amid cool shadows

ghost salt

with my shadow hands
i catch a robin's shadow
in the morning sun

fridge

grey avocado,
spinach going transparent,
destined for compost

Sunday

spent the day today
doing nothing, quite lazy
and unrepentant

red

to stave off future
i henna my hair, again,
and do my sit-ups

spring

black dots squiggle
and dance around my bathtub:
the damn ants are back.

honk honk

a tattered grey skein
canada geese snag oak tops,
tangled song fills sky

5 am

unable to sleep
i watch the moon carve its path
across window panes

rock creek

rich with melt, blue-green,
pools deepen to mossy hues
echoing wet stones

amid white patches
a troupe of robins winnows,
orange sines bob and rise

swaddled

swaddled in cotton,
a waning moon murmuring
its muffled message

For Megan

Tulips, you hold fire

in your petals, hot beauty

fighting winter's cold.

in like a lion

seasons marching forth
a gap in the snow and wind
could spring be coming?