April

I don’t like you, April.

I don’t like the way you flirt

So seductively with May,

Tugging at her,

Whispering her name in your winds,

But keeping February close to your heart.

You let loose those days of lucidity and warmth—

The way Spring should be.

But those days are betrayed by those other days,

Days of cold, rain, and blustery winds.

You know the ones I’m talking about.

When we’ve already made it through Winter,

As well as March’s own deceptive effulgence,

The last thing I need is you, April.

I’m ready to embrace Spring, wrap my arms around her.

Your “showers” are fine, I don’t mind,

But what I can’t take, is more grey, more cold.