by David Selzer.
We are nearly two months into spring, only
moments away from summer, and yet, yet,
though three swifts have returned from Africa,
though a pair of ungainly wood pigeons
court in a neighbour’s gutter, though there are
hot days perfumed with plants and bee laden,
wintry winds from the north harry clouds south,
and the sparrows are hesitant to lay,
the laburnum reluctant to unfurl
its golden curlicues. The Four Horsemen
are coming, not at a canter but
crabwise in dressage. Armageddon
is approaching, not with a bang and a flash
but little by little.