Do Not be Fooled by March

Winter dies like some old dictator,
And, suddenly, liberation takes place.
The jacket's thrown off, and the gloves,
And the boots. Arms are bared. Eyes
Are peeled, looking out for the crocuses
Popping up, anarchists, here, in the midst
Of the turf, body politic, colorless, broken,
Betrothed to the past. The dictator's gone!
You should rise. We will triumph. We
Dance on the sidewalk and welcome
The future...until the cops come,
The frost, and we freeze, and our hopes,
We learn, cannot survive.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 24 times
Written on 2021-03-08 at 01:17

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