It’s warm out
So I’m outside again,
A ghost of translucent skin
And awkward-angled sunburns,
Draped in cheap Target cloth.
A single man in cyan
Sits on a sun-drenched hill
Staring into a bright rectangle.
I write about him
In a similar rectangle.
I do my best to not ogle
The women in sundresses
But let’s face it:
The world is blooming now
And there’s much more
To look at.

I, and maybe you,
Pull clods of earth asunder
As we haul ourselves
From the sunken winter,
Shaking our lumbering frames,
Inhaling the soft scent
Of flowers. We smell love,
And feel the warm breeze
Against our cheeks.
We’ve won our annual
Fight against the seasons.
We’ve won once again.