Portent
Mummified mums
stare out across the yard
and trees hold up thin fingers
to test the wind.
The temperature hangs
just below freezing,
yet the sun burns off
ice and snow,
impatient for Spring.
—
A Brief Bestiary
My train car is full
of zombies and parrots,
the slack jawed
in search of brains
and those who say
what they’ve heard
most often.
The former
watch Springer.
The latter listen
to Limbaugh.
Garlic
doesn’t work
on either.
Haha – that is exactly how the train was – you must be psychic
Love them both!
Hey, your liberal bias is showing; you should give equal time to the parrots who read the New York Times!! (I know, you’d lose that great alliteration). Nice poem though. I like the first one too, but we’re still waiting for winter, let alone spring!