The oom-pah
rhythm of a marching
ignites the listeners’ hands and heads
and feet
till not a soul is still, and all must
stand
and clap and sing and dance to snare
drum’s beat.
Not so the spring this year. It lagged
behind
in winter’s chill. We moaned like oboes
out
of tune and tubists out of step.
Snowblind,
we
watched from windows-- full of pout and doubt
that spring would ever come. On St. Pat’s
Day,
or thereabouts, expected, longed-for warm
returned like oboes back in sync, the
splay
of tubists feet back to their rhythmed charm.
We
clap our hands and rake those last-year’s leaves
away from rows of daffodils, re-arch
the trellises that fell in snow. Our
peeves
forgotten. Fanfares now: it’s finally March!!
~~
PL, March, 2014, for SC-PRA contest
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