Equinoctial Poem by Ernest Hilbert

A Yuengling bottle stands sentinel
Inside a rusted Philly Weekly box. A wet page
Wallpapered to one side shows a grinning man,
Wicked gleam in eyes almost illegible.
He's posed, oiled and flexed, as if on a stage,
Above frozen pizza crust, a crumpled Coke can.
It's rain, then snow, rain again, the slush black
With exhaust and tar, and the city slides
Evilly through the hard, final assault
Of winter's long offensive. Spring will be back,
Or so we're told, though oddly overdue, like tides
Gone out and not come back, and, everywhere, salt.
The seasons glue down, pull off painfully,
Like memories that stay in the eyes from dreams
A moment, mazelike, before they're rubbed out.
Something is wrong. Something has rudely
Changed around us, or in us, unsewn seams,
Or gorging rain before killing drought.