The tops of the dogwoods nod in tacit approval
that this is good, this wind of splayed imagination.
Winter has spit up on herself, cloaking her weathered shirt
with color and moody panache.
The cars jostle with a renewed vigor,
giving permission to ante up the brazen factor-
what with the sunshine ‘n all.
It’s time to take action since it follows the long deep.
Pulling our lives out of the garage
we trade shovels for blades,
things that scrape for things that whir,
things that were for things that are.
Quail, the Charlie Chaplins of the bird family,
spin their way across seedling lawns
in a dash to new family outings in someone’s arbor vitae.
That’s where the fat, seasoned quail go.
And somewhere, slumped in the same, dark basement
sits a lonely be-spotted, achingly white guy,
whose game hand stinks of Doritos.
It is lonely for another hand.
Thanks to www.geekscribe.com for the learned expose on geekdom.
5 thoughts on “Not everyone finds the sun”
You had me until the last stanza – I don’t get the connection???
All is scurrying about and coming to life, except for the lonely gamer still holed up in his basement. He has no idea that Spring has sprung and bringing with it the possibility of friendship. I suppose if I have to explain it, however, it’s lost in translation! My bad.
Maybe I’m just tired – I totally ‘get’ your explanation. I’ll reread and fit that in to the picture… Thanks Rob! (I’m rather cheeky, I know…)
Actually I love when readers ask these kinds of questions. It shows there is a real engagement with the words and concepts. It also keeps me working on the craft to be creative but also cogent. Bring it!