Spring into Summer
Cellophane swaddled tulips peek
pink from green vestments, their sturdy
stems held by a rubber band doubled
taut, tripled. At home I’ll cut
them at an angle, place them in water
with a penny (green pitcher scrolled
with berries) so they’ll last. Outside
a spring storm, rain fine as sea spray.
They sky’s white as my faded jeans.
Under a glazed sky saturate greens glow
wetted at the end of the day, rain invisible
as a fishnet, fine as sea spray. So what
if you don’t love this world? The sky’s
white as my faded jeans signifying the failure
of the manmade. Spring’s a pollen factory,
a hay fever Manhattan Project. Sharp slick rocks.
Stingers sharpened in hive after hive. The world
dangerous, cunning. You can’t live without
it. Dark Marxist heart dependent on the greedy
market: you have to eat. Can’t eat theory
can’t eat books: swallow your poison, bright buttery
corn, right off the cob.
Michael J Carter is a poet and clinical social worker who lives and works in Connecticut. A graduate of Sarah Lawrence College he holds an MFA from Vermont College and an MSW from Smith. Poems of his have appeared in such journals as Boulevard, Ploughshares, Provincetown Arts Magazine, among many others. He lives with his two hounds and spends his time swimming and knitting.