Muddy gutters,
Fill with slush and filthy snow,
Trash magnets.

Five months of Jr. High kid’s lost assignments
Lay like wilted cabbage leaves
Sogged on pop cans.

Candy wrappers stuck on plastic bags,
Wadded by snowplows,
Cling like lovers
To those curbs and gutters.

Hubcaps jarred in January potholes
Materialize beside sidewalks
As mercury vapors rise
From 22 to 32 to 42 to 52.

Only lifeless lawn exists,
Barren trees,
Except one sudden slice of purple.

Two tiny crocus sprouts shrouded in a dirty
White McNapkin say
God still loves us.