“Ducklings”

It was morning and I got up,

only to see the roads of black asphalt heating in the day.

Only to see the ducklings crossing on the white lines drawn in from the hand of God, with a little bit of help from a man walking with an apparatus on his back.

Only to see the dearth until all of Blossom, huge one as yellow the next.

Only to see the grass slightly ragged in its green trimmage for mower had not come this week.

Only to see the crisp blue beliefs officer directing traffic, with the annoyed dryers bowing to his whitey-white commands on the bluety-blue while watching a sleet violet dress, undone at the sash. All the colors of the rainbow blurred into a verdant scene, as the ambulances slash to the open doors as if they had always done this. And since the hides of March, who was to say.