Yesterday I posted a sonnet cheering the early arrival of Spring. But I must confess that I hate the Spring, notwithstanding all its potent symbols of new life. Hate it. For me Spring means two very dreadful things: 1) the end of the skiing season; and 2) the beginning of allergies. I don't know how I make it from one glorious Winter to another. It makes me miss living in Quebec, where it was either Winter, or July. But in any case, here's a snarky little sonnet about my greatest biological enemy.
by Gideon Burton
A froth of pungent pollen floating wet
upon the afternoon swells up its tide
then crashes over us, a sticky sweat
both rough and smooth, it sinks and glides
along the porous tissues of the eyes
until its claws invisible with hate
make clenching holds, they seize with dark surprise
the hottest triggers of our quickest fate.
I wash my hands my throat my face my sight
my mind a haze of mucous pressured fast
against the walls of swelling cells whose blight
of blood makes dying seem a sweet repast
For I am eaten, chewed with spring’s attackand curse the world that frost and snow will lack.
Feel free to copy, imitate, remix, or redistribute this poem as long as you give proper acknowledgment of authorship. Photo: flickr - gravitywave