Spring: This Ain't No Love Poem

 

Oh for christ's sake

here it  is again.

 

Tulips sprout

like maddening, colorful

cliches.

 

All those blooming idiots.

 

And the chirp

and the chip

on the shoulder

of those morning birds.

What are we left with

some pellets, some small turds?

 

And some chick

in the square

told me she smells

the fragrance of love.

 

And a professor in the yard

said "Hope springs eternal."

Well pal,

I won't be putting that

pearl in my journal.

 

And all those "gifted" Cambridge

children at play

only remind me

of my decay.

 

You bastard,

Spring!

 

You swept away

the cold,

insular comfort

of my Winter's Day.