Spring, sweet spring, printemps, the spring equinox
And it all happens in one day, a person walks
Out in the street and you can feel the juice
And life is casual and loose
And the earth is producing produce
And spring is in the air
And there are balls everywhere.
Volleyballs, soccer balls, dodge balls, baseballs, basketballs, bound and rebound,
As a world that was flat returns to being round.
The playground is a riot of action
Now that the children can get traction
And children tear around and they skip and they hop
Bop bop shbop across the blacktop
A soft-shoe dance and cries of delight
As the caged birds finally take flight.
And the crossing guards in their neon green
Green green everywhere seen
Green horticultural and green theatric
Green in honor of St. Patrick.
Seven year olds with big backpacks
Full of bricks and books and snacks,
Children walking, rocknrollers,
Parents pushing baby strollers.
Strollers parked outside the gelato shop,
Babies inside, a whole fresh crop,
Getting their first taste of tangerine,
Chocolate, blood orange, the vanilla bean.
Sweaters tied around waists, and jackets slung
Over arms because spring has sprung.
People loiter and gab and hang
Outdoors because spring just sprang.
And I would like to sing
All the songs ever sung about spring
Because it's warm and the sun is shining
And the patio is now open for dining.
The homeless man with the Styrofoam cup
Has gotten himself freshened up
And switched from olive to orange fatigues
And trimmed the whiskers on his cheeks.
A man and a woman pass with a nod,
She goes on and he stops and turns with an odd
Look of delight and stares
At the tall woman with dark hair
Tied up in a tortoise-shell clip,
Computer bag against her hip,
Like a movie star she passes
So cool in her Italian sunglasses.
Past the magazine stand and the flower dealer
Goes the meter maid on her three-wheeler
Taking a little spring vacation
Ignoring minor violations.
And a girl at the outdoor cafe reads Walt Whitman's "Song
Of Myself" eating a foot-long
Baguette with salty
Prosciutto listening to Vivaldi.
And next to her two men,
One does the crossword with a purple pen.
One helps him with a clue now and then,
Six down, a five-letter word meaning "to leap lightly"
S-p-r-i-n-g.
People taking pictures of the scene,
Looking into their digital camera screen,
People blossoming like plants in water,
Wearing the sweatshirt of their alma mater,
Remembering youth if only murkily
At Texas, Syracuse, Minnesota, Berkeley.
The smell of grass, sweet and faint,
And lots of signs that say, "Wet Paint"
Green green green all around,
Crocuses coming out of the ground.
We walk along and on our way
We see local organic honey (gourmet)
The bees are busy making hay.
Fennel, bok choy, rhubarb, chard,
Dandelions from someone's yard.
Chicory, mesclun, spinach, beans,
Russian kale and mustard greens,
Delicious fresh asparagus stalks
Arranged like flowers in a cardboard box.
Bouquets of roses for your romance.
Tulip bulbs. Hydrangea plants.
Spring is in the air. We're happy.
Flower fragrance, sweet and sappy.
People smile and people sneeze
Expressing all their allergies.
On the corner a couple of kids
Tap out a beat on garbage can lids,
And people going out on dates
Tap their feet on sidewalk grates,
Slip and slide on big steel plates,
And dance in the street on manhole covers,
For all the world belongs to lovers.
It's echoed across creation
That lovely simple syncopation
In which the joy of love is captured
And all of nature is enraptured.
Scat, doowop, hiphop, bebop,
The beat of lovers never stops.
They swing their arms and tap their feet
Dancing lightly in the street,
Around the trees and flower beds.
Pigeons go by bopping their heads.
Bicycles pass, dinging their bells.
Women, madams and mademoiselles,
Switch their hips and swing and sway
On a delicious first spring day,
As men observe and quietly wait
For women to decide their fate,
For the look, a smile, a glance,
That will summon them to the dance.
Men do not decide these things,
We sit and wait for the phone to ring,
For the girl of our dreams to look our way
And smile on a warm spring day.
Maybe now, and maybe then,
We sit and wait with other men
On the vernal equinox.
We flex our muscles, pull up our socks,
Comb our golden curly locks,
Wear perfume made from hollyhocks,
Write poems and put them in the mailbox,
And hear the ticking of the clocks.