And what’s this weather all about –
a patch of blue, an inch of lightly falling snow
and now the watery sun is peeking through?
I did expect a pantomime, a charade
of winter giving way to spring and then
recanting everything, but here we have
a perfect promenade of whims,
and, yet again, the mockingbird, alighting
on the tightrope of the telephone line,
looks boldly in my window with his
black and beady eye as if to say
“Everything is fine, I have things in control,”
and giving the folded fan that is his tail
a flounce, departs, making the wire bounce.
