I'm off to the University again this morning as this weekend is admitted students day and the flock to get more information about the year ahead. I'm the one who signed up to represent our school once again, and I'm already rubbing my eyes with exhaustion. It would be nice if others would join the work from time to time.
It's still sunny, although it's also still windy and cold; perhaps my favorite time of the year. My lawn really needs mowing, but I've decided not to do it until this upcoming weekend because I really don't have any more time to give in a day than I'm already giving.
Yes, it must be April.
It Must Be April
b.r.crandall
Saturdays aren’t for meant showers.
Those birds singing on neighborhood trees
aren’t wearing tuxedos, after all….
skunks aren’t smelling like apple pies.
I probably should care more
about how alley cats clean themselves, though.
because I keep the tweezers in a vanity,
behind a bathroom mirror I try to avoid.
Landscaping on weekends is not for this man.
I’d rather be basking in distractions,
with procrastinations to my habitual multitasking.
man sipping coffee
barefoot in a ripped t-shirt
and his navy pair of Fruit of the Looms.
Thankful to miss today’s generation of manity insanity
that zest for jawlines & skin care.
I learned long ago to hug lifelong flaws
which include the ways love
has handled my stomach.
In the card catalogue of bodily complaints,
these hairy man boobs have become a fave.
Yet, when I was younger I bucked differently…
laced Sauconies and weighed all prose & consof youth
(wasted on the young).
I shawled myself with preparations
as Talking Heads taught me to do…
how did I get here?
But then I think about the seeds. This soil. Our Sun.
Getting these fingers into the ground (such a dirty mind),
to plant possibilities for another day,
so future seedlings can transcend this Earth, too,
where they, perhaps (maybe) (hmmm), might
bloom in gorgeous greenery
before they’re clipped
or taken
by frost.
