March
A yellow month
daffodils, dandelion, gorse
and the eyes of new-born daisies
little lambkins, blossom gutters and premature chocolate eggs
holly and Rudolph slip over the horizon behind
and it’s spring forward
into long shadows and
the smell of burning meat in next door’s garden
the buzz of distant mowers
but we aren’t there yet
it’s almost time for the great unpeeling –
ankle bone, toe knuckle, blue pale shin skin
if only the lingering threat of sleet would pass
an Indian winter, finding us cloutless, pounces
and for another year we are bewildered
betrayed and unable to decide what to wear
