Spring Poem by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu

Spring is heavy.
A pregnant child (impregnated by the spermatozoa of winter's rain)
it smells like the yolk of life

A gangling debutante,
it flaunts its new flaxen-grey hair
with the sexiness of a grand harlot.

It labours with the dignity
of childbearing,
spewing forth lilacs that lie low.

Dearest Pollen,
how do I sneeze out the cold courage
to arrest the spring situation?

Four seasons make one spring.
The yelling consequences of
Ailing metaphors splice slackly with the
Raw mentality of renascence.