Springing into March

                

 

  

My sweet birthday boy
At 4, he wanted to take the long cut home (“I don’t like short cuts”)
God gave me a bookmonster when I prayed for a bookworm.
Then Crockett Johnson’s Purple Crayon. 

Now Thomas Pynchon’s Gravity’s Rainbow?

 

                          

 

             In Saratoga, California, Spring is in the air              

                                                   Coming to many lungs near you: Singulair  

 

                       

 

 Pray, who Madoff with your leaves from last year and the years before?  

 

 

 

                         

 

Powder pink cherry blossoms on a crisp blue sky
                           “But, wait, where are the smells?” asks the India-returned.
                                                            “Why doesn't America smell? It’s sterile.”

 

 

                                                                                              

                                    

Little wonder that the Willow weeps.    

                               The silence here is deafening.                                                                                                                                                            No streetlights either. 

                                                             It can drive you senile.

 

   

 

In college she coins new expressions for caustic Google chat.

“Please. Refrain, Mother. 

You seem to have a tendency 

to express my sentiments as very extreme versions 

of what they really are. 

As a fellow writer, 

I understand that you thrive on hyperbole. 

But, Reel it in, Woman!”                

 

 

 

            

 

This valley is for engineers. And their engineering spouses who offer precious tips here.   

 

                               

 

No spring in anyone's step this Spring        
But pinch and crush the lavender of 2009.                
Hope springs anew. May be the stalks will surge again?