February And Beyond

Not Yet

Ole magnolia!  Yet hold up great calyxes
half open. Roughneck winds worry,
terrier-stubborn and as empty headed
 (yew trees animate the fit,
lurch and shiver muppet locks at me)
clang the gate and yank this paper
a streak away to flat banshee
on a lattice fence at the back, trembling
there, a whining rant half-written,
naked and burring to be retrieved.
Write then that hurly burly burlesque,
a vicious slap to crack a circumstance
and find a scowl, a rage running riot
down the street and out of town.

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