Old Lion

March is a lion
on the northern tier,

sixty degrees out one day
but next the skies are dreary
and unclear,

yet this is the nature of the
old man's death,

one that refuses to go silently
into the grave,

bitterness and regret are the
only pills that he swallows,

butt off the metaphor
the world is a tiny piece
of regularity,

one where patterns are detected
and explanations are devised,

so either way,

it's not all that surprising
how the shape of things
can come to be so miserably
cold and snowy on the Ides,

it's the death of Julius Caesar
played out in super slow motion
and applied to the changing of
the seasons,

it's like the death and resurrection
of Jesus Christ but the return of
the old lion is a guarantee just
like taxes and poverty,

and on the flip side,

the old lion roars himself into
a whisper,

but he did not on the next Ides
because the old lion roared once
more like a mouse had taken a
splinter from his paw,

so the discontent of humana
is now the whisper that the
old lion should be

Author's Note

An unfinished piece about the elongated winter that became finished tonight. On March 15, it was cold and snowy and it was the same thing on April 15.

And so on, so it goes.

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

March is always a time of change, even if it ignores the schedule. Crazy weather everywhere, I think.

[Kenneth The Poet]

Agreed, agreed. Thank you, Sam.

[Ed Hart]

it's going to snow again tonight, and tomorrow and the next day...you want to hear a roar...walk by my front door

[Kenneth The Poet]

I believe it. 18 inches up here on Sunday. Nearly threw out my shoulder and back on Monday.