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| Helette Gagnon, Montreal |
March, fighting back winter, litters and swamps
the terrain—“rain washes away promises.”
It helps to see green not the cold pink aura of Mars.
Large spruces sing again—birds as always hidden.
Dead of winter seems as far away as Mars. White
disappears replaced by grey-brown mud and puddles.
It came early unsure of itself bearing a sullen sun
enough for a god to brandish his spear and condemn
Global warming every Tuesday ‘till doomsday. Can’t
let the precious crops fail with testy weather.
This morning snow is back with a vengeance—
inch by inch suffocating the tired sprouts.
Dormant Royals won’t help us nor will dead planets
alone, having caused the eminent demise of another.
I hear his statues hurling insults in the polluted
atmosphere—scrolls of painful mischief and bewares.
Humans blare with the flare of gods & goddesses—
torrents of guff and belligerent tantrums.
We made the list of extinct species several befores.
Darkness is coming with a fine wind of dust.
Consequence? We aspire for a spring transformed
into old springs—less flooding, while the mountains
Disgorge, the rivers surge. In mighty skies, as in
desperation, downpours participate.
We are not going back. Futurists see red hazes over
cities—when bleakness overwhelms the earth
War is not far behind.
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