Hark, the harbingers of spring!
Soft flapping in warming breeze,
the hint of blossoms.
Look there! The harebell flap
of forlorn Toronto Star, blue-bagged
February 10th before the storm –
It’s pale headlines crumpled,
limp with damp Thursday news.
Beneath the salt-rimmed scarf of
plow-torn turf and filthy corn snow
crusted against the plow-chipped curb
peek blushes of Era weekly flyers
flowering paper furl of petals
amidst the melt and ciggy butts.
Unscooped poop of mutts long gone,
to master’s unneighbourly neglect
– round rabbit calling turds,
the tumbled mounds of crap exhume
with swaths of cheery red buds
writ large from Loblaws
beneath the ruin of chewed up shrubbery.
Lo! Here a brace of golden Avon sacks
cling pale, unbeautiful
under the brittle caragana;
damp lozenges – discarded Valu-Paks,
cost saving coupons long expired
disintegrate like damp handshakes on chill fingers;
the thaw steams from straw lawns
beside the crack-veined driveway.