Listening to peculiar strangers gather in the eavestrough;
Coddling the malleable bloom of rooted trees
An immigrant to prosperity cradled by Mercutio.
-Our revels now are ended. These our actors.
Burnt sand swallows the lighthouse where the savage hang,
melancholy-tea and a pulp-fiction spread
dismal characters, behaving bourgeois
-Gather in the eavestrough

my crocuses are frozen
my hyacinths are wilted
my snow drops are still hiding
and my tulips all are stilted

my lawn is buried deeply
my door bell doesn't ring
all of these together are
signs of Canadian spring

lawn all ripped to ratshit
flyers frozen to the fence
*** holes every fifty feet
student residences to rent

icicles on my eavestrough
and the damage that they bring
all of these together are
signs of a Canadian spring.