All winter, every morning, I postpone
that moment, though my conscience whispers Rise!
Go greet the world! It’s frozen to the bone,
that world. I pull up blankets, close my eyes.
I’m more persuadable in early spring.
I get up slightly faster and put on
less fleece; though I know I’ll be shivering
for that first mile, I fall for my own con.
And then a morning comes, around mid-May,
when I’m astonished to wake up and find
I’m eager to leap up and walk, a day
when I resolve I won’t be left behind.
I prize those mornings, and there aren’t a lot.
It won’t be long before it’s too damned hot.