Why does each spring have to bring such a mess?
all the mud and the crud that is left and won’t go;
then that dandruff debris shed by maples on walks
that gathers in corners like nasty mementos of snow.

The worms are just mucking and throwing mud pies
all over the lawns as the dandelions try on spring hats;
of course they will tire of their silly gold crowns
and blow them away on stray breezes and that is just that.

I rake and I lift and I listen for positive sounds
Like a bird singing lustily waiting to tryst with his mate;
But instead all I see is the poops of the dogs that their
masters don’t scoop all year long as they stop by my gate.

I don’t think it’s too much say that I hope
that next time with spring there comes soap.