It's the start of National Poetry Month

Because the weather can't make up its' mind and today marks the start of national poetry month, I'm including one of my favorite weather related poems from my time in Iowa City. Here goes...

Infestation

The week the ants came,

you learned what mercy meant—

woke to find them braiding a path

crossways in the bathtub from a hidden rift

near the faucet,

so many black dots, they assumed Monet,

each one a kind of living.

March was uncertain, windows drawn

open, then shut,

even the sparrows lost their minds--

ridding their nests too soon of wrappers,

bits of blue string.

A hundred ants that did so little,

and you without a heart

ruined enough to kill them. A hundred

too many to keep. You played roulette,

closed your eyes to the swift work

of killing. Washed the blood

from your hands. Said you were sorry.

Outside, the world pitied northern weather,

bushes collapsed in their thoughts,

and wind chimes forgave over and over.

Somewhere in town, a man you could love

eyed the bending column of a tree and wondered

how it belonged.

Casey Lord