Home By Twelve

When the equinox
I pretend I’m not at home
(That was the punchline)


Halfway There

Six more weeks of clouds and fog
Await us, says the P-Town Hog
Who’s right as often as mistaken
(Otherwise, he’s groundhog bacon).
Penumbral prognostications
May prompt some to seek vacations
On a sunny beach, but I
Don’t mind a damp and darkish sky
If, in exchange, I’m free to hide
In flannel jammies, warm inside.
Seek the sun if that’s your thing,
But I’m content to wait for spring.

Parsing Spring

Equi from the Latin root for horse;
Nox from “there’s no treasure on this map”;
Vernal from “What Vern will do,” of course,
Which clearly won’t include explain this crap.
Take half the day while I take half the night
And we’ll have equal time to get it right.


This discontented winter’s pending
End is near. We’ll soon be spending
Well-lit evenings mowing lawns
And grousing over early dawns
And seeking shelter from the heat,
Our shorts-clad thighs stuck to the seat
Until the AC shudders on…
Ten days. That’s it. Then winter’s gone.