“April is the cruelest month.”
T. S. Eliott, I can’t agree.
For me, some months are crueler.
They have a history.
For instance . . . Wait a minute!
I forgot your tax-due day,
and still-cold winds,
and warmer temps that tease and blow away.
You start out with April Fool’s Day.
That should give me warning
To all the jokes you’ll play all month
The dire straits you’re forming.
Some mornings I wake to 26
but by afternoon it’s 59.
That’s havoc to my “oldening” bones.
Can’t you make up your mind?
How should I dress to fit your moods?
Woolen gloves and winter wrap
with umbrella, two kinds of boots?
I’m stuck in your vile trap.
Only sometimes there is Easter.
So, no counting on that.
And melting snowbanks soon reveal
the shriveled junk on which they sat.
Which reminds me of spring cleaning
and the rummage I must go through . . .
April, some months may be crueler,
but as cruel months go, you’ll do!