Jumping The Broomstick (Poetry)

Such a short Spring — late starting
then all over in days —
the sudden fizz of blossom
mimicking the snow
that claimed the same branches
only a few weeks ago.

And now a just-as-sudden squall —
harsh — perverse
with its wayward timing
it rips the petals free
and sends them blizzard-fine
tossed in extravagant gusts.

A soft-spun riot of white
clothes the gale in layers
winds her wild limbs round as though
she is a skittish bride
and rain’s the over-eager bridegroom
who divests her — wrecks her finery

as they carouse among old trees
confetti-deep and newly roused
strung green with bunting...
this rough-natured wedding close
to consummated there beneath
tradition’s borrowed patch
                                of Maytime blue.

********

The marriage of Spring gales and rain’s
a rough and ready, wild affair
that sweeps pale blossom’s sad remains
away with neither song nor prayer.

The gale is callous with the flower —
frail petals bruised while still in bud
while macho rain shows off its power
where battered shoots lie flat in mud.

A fickle pair to rule the weather
inconstant in true season’s course
too short on time to stick together
the sun provides a quick divorce.