The signs of spring are upon us
And with it, the acknowledgement
That I am woefully unprepared.
The things which should have been done, clearly,
Have not been done.
What was I thinking
Through the long cold winter?
We survived, somehow,
but are not now reborn.
The roses are leggy
Only one tulip remains
Stray saplings unweeded
Eddies of leaves
Obscure fresh shoots.
Next time will I do better
Or was it this way last year
And the year and the year and the year before that?
The forsythia is yellow
Was it always thus?
Or did I plant it, hopefully, as a much younger man
My memory has lately become spotty.
We said goodbye to our last pet yesterday
At once kitten and crone
As the technician gently pulsed
Thick pink fluid into her foot.
Today we are alone
Do we begin again?
Or do we lick our wounds
As she once licked her fur
And await the world’s decline.