Tell elms, "clock's tics move fast past tocs
bring out the greenery, push past buds."
I've waited too long  
and Spring is too short.
Aluminum siding has capsized
and I am sunk too far in this rut.
Toenails have begun taking root.
Impoverished tin can town, with feral cats  
better fed on mice and sparrows,
releases its billowing film
from trash-to-steam chimneys.
And septic pea soup drips from sky,
so tell elms, "Hurry!"
Blot out pestilential reality  
of this deadly poverty
with green places the sparrows might nest.
I will keep safe the mice.