Faux Thaw
D. R. James

If ever a day so deceitful, so
promising in its delicate sunshine,
you’d stow all the wools and flannels, change out
storms for screens–the mud-framed sidewalks, matted
gardens so bathed in clemency you’d stamp
COMMUTED on the calendar and free
those squirmy inmates from their times-sevens
and prepositions to dance a giddy
getaway into rumpus rooms of blue
and wispy white–today’s that kind of day.

             –first published in Miller’s Pond Poetry Magazine


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