Thursday, February 25, 2016

DEFERRED

Dear William 
Carlos Williams,
you were 

wrong—not about 
much, but about early 

spring 
and all

that reddish 
purplish twiggy stuff—for 
sure-

ly,
there's no 
such stark dignity—

there is only 
someone 
like me

arriving here, 
probably a little too early, and 

yet,
so 
so so 
so so so very 
lonely late—to see

these old
strands of icicle Christmas 
lights, still clinging 

pathetically 
to so many wrought- 
iron neighborhood 

fences, long 
since turned- 
off and unplugged, forgotten,

and just left 
here, dripping wet
with slow 

thaw and suspended—as if found
guilty and hung,

for the sheer shameful 
spectacle of the 
scene—as the March sun 

approaches,
and the tipsy 
birds—begin hollering.

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