El Nino Spring
Worn out from all the push and bluster
trees lean wearily northeast
or lie broken and surrendered
across limb-strewn streets.
Drains are clogged with stubble of pine
hair of cedar. Curbs catch
once nubile catkins, fugitive leaves,
pink drifts of downed petals.
My poor crocuses
who faithfully held high
fistfuls of closed buds
hoping one day soon to pay
bright homage to the sun
conquered and crushed on soggy ground.
Enough already!
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