Ides

~

a mischievous breeze

stings our faces under

a cloudless, pale blue 

thin sky that offers no 

explanation,

walkers stroll a little faster

without meaning to

keen gardeners choose rest 

instead and draw up the 

coming seasons’ plans,

the sun hangs camouflaged

pallid, silver, counterfeit 

demanding homage but with 

no credible currency,

we too are undecided

prowling like caged lions, 

irascible, unsatisfied twixt 

breakfast and lunchtime,

we woke with much promise 

but have been jilted by the 

cold breath and promiscuity 

of late March, left deflated to 

consider our meagre options

*

© GRS 4/25