Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Pollen Count

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.

Pollen Count
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 attack
     and 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


  1. My eyes have been swollen and itchy as well. But I am so enjoying the sun. I'm afraid I'd like to keep spring. To me, it's worth it.

  2. This is where we part ways. I will miss you. ;)

  3. This morning as I was getting ready, I was wondering... If I wear mascara that stays perpetually sticky, would it catch the pollen before it gets into my eyes?

    Still, I love spring.