Two Spring Poems

Spring, first thing

stink of mud as ground thaws

residual rottenness not fully

decomposed.

The flowers will come

like new skin, new hope

of renewal, as they

cyclically do.

The world will relive the same 

process as it always does or

seems to do; always just

a gap of memory.

.............................................

Empty cafe, Rolling Stones echo

memory of time long gone...the

chatter that filled the air no

longer lingers.

We've grown old, what we never

thought would happen in eternal 

youth...it was all so exciting and

important, our loves and tears,

hopes and fears, gone: an ashtray

full of butts, the smell of stale beer.

The barkeep in his apron sweeps

the floor, readying the venue for

the next group of tourists.

"Here's where Thomas fell drunk

and died...here the spot Ginsberg

blew a sailor...Burroughs shot up

in this hall...Kerouack was against

this wall."

The landfill filled with the trash of

those lives...a mountain of refuse

all that's left of the Utopia we once

dreamed. 

Just then, a bubbly San Francisco 

mother aerates through the dull,

empty space, a quick complain of

her task to clean her house, a burst

of life, sweet joy, and gone.