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That raw-wet Tuesday afternoon
in April,
a menu item ordered and prepared
to taste, in theory. The renewal/rebirth
of a spring
snow shower, innocently simplified:
'it shouldn't stick.' (Sigh!)
Experience lusted for in youth, even as it's
shunned in the
old-fart personification of a life
skulking from new luggage to tagged baggage.
Renewal, a re-death,
crackling
undergrowth of a golden
October Sunday, the low sun at once
a message
from Winter ('thanks for the
warning') & altered fiction &
old regrets,
still-kicking-around remains of
(some-sum) Summertime fun,
frolic, and
sweat.
Cruel April's new-love promises
- prescription and co-pay-
Crisp October's apologies
-police report-
-court document—
-that éclair you were saving for breakfast, gone-
and those plums, 'so cold and so delicious'...
all now eligible for
Treatment, under
Depression's gray umbrella,
illegibly endorsed in the THONK! of a rubber stamp.
Cretan Maineiac
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