The FAB&PP Poem of the Month for April 1998

poem

however wishful, the
brown melt runs past
new concrete, the sawdust
decomposes into root beds
the bulbs turn up and
we turn over, still
the shadows' slant makes
the animals shy, and
only a few flies (or flying
ants) caught without will in the
grip of premature heat
buzz through the day
to die
    with their
fruits exposed

to the next frost, to rot
in the cold rain to come,
and they cannot even imagine
the real spring in its time,
or mourn

analysis

but what is it about the
concrete that catches your
eye, why mention it. tell
us; this isn't an exercise
in secrecy

    it's the pale white
    color, looking
    like it can be washed
    away

i won't discuss the alliteration
but which animals?

    i don't know. in
    general: animals. if
    if could see them i'd catalog
    them, but they're
    shy. i can't.

and these misidentified
flying insects, very
unpleasant allusion; so what
is 'with their fruits
exposed?'

    expose this...

March 30-31 (88 degrees farenheight) 1998
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