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Printed from https://shop.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2081778-Michigan-Spring
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by Fyn Author IconMail Icon
Rated: E · Poetry · Family · #2081778
If you don't like the weather...wait five minutes...
Prompt for: April 19, 2016 (Ren)
Subject or Theme: We are smack in the middle of spring. Describe a spring day where you live.
Word(s) to Include: death, elevate (or any derivatives of these words)
Forbidden Word(s): animals, baby, bloom, buds, flowers, new, renew, young (or any derivatives, compound or hyphenations of these words)
Additional Parameters:
Remember, do not use forbidden words ANYWHERE, including title or the brief description.



Michigan Spring

A two year old
throwing weather tantrums:
fevered highs, snowy lows,
mittens and shorts.

A six year old
coloring outside the lines:
scribbling swiggles, mixing colors,
scrawling name, claiming ownership.

A ten year old
rediscovering two-wheeled freedom:
flashing by, no hands needed,
as swarms form honeyed smiles.

A teenager
rakes winter's leavings:
leaves, stormfall branches,
a missed candy cane, found Frisbee.

A thirty-something
oils, gasses up the mower:
greening grasses need spring haircut
while hardware lists beckon.

Hard-hatted worker
pulls construction cones,
neon-orange barrels from his truck:
Spring, road-work - synonymous.

The neighborhood cat
condescends to ear scratching:
shedding cat hair, as winter coats
give way to shirtsleeves, pink noses.

Fathers
relegate winter tools to backyard sheds, unearths
golf clubs, (considers disappearing) opt to avoid
death-glares, attack the honey-do list instead.

Mothers
send kids, toys, noise
outside, watching as she washes
the front window.

Writer
sits by opened window, chained
to desk, penning thoughts for
a deadline approaches. Perhaps, later.

A blue stranger
checks out the ornamental birdhouse owl
elevated in the maple tree,
gathers twigs, street-side detritus.

Cranky two year old
pulls blanket close, cries a storm-cloud.
Snowflake crystals crown daffodils,
form epaulets on shirts clothespinned to the line.

My husband
shrugs, says that Spring has sprung.
Fires up the grill, sets up the patio,
stacks wood in the fire pit for later.

The two year old sleeps.
Crackling branches form a garden
of heated color as neighbors wander over
carrying yard chairs. Hibernation is finished.
© Copyright 2016 Fyn (fyndorian at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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