Spring Break Poem, by WIll mcgreal, at My poetic side

this week the rain rinsed all the snow

out of the yard leaving the grasses caught

unawares—separate blades going in every

which way, not yet the solidarity of a spring turf

and there reflecting April's sun in S.O.S.

are my reading glasses lost in November

while running from the car, found in surprisingly

good shape, happy to fold its arms again

next to the bowl of oranges, ever patient while I

steep the tea and joining me on the wide chair to read

the Times, a little shocked by the changes in Uganda,

whispering creel, a five letter word for trout basket

Author: WIll mcgreal (Pseudonym) ( Offline)
Published: March 8th, 2017 04:35
Comment from author about the poem: This is one of my more whimsical poems, a style that I enjoy, to be certain. I like the idea that this captures the feeling of reuniting with an old friend. And, as well, the articulation of routine is shared between the subject and his glasses. In this sense, the contrast between a sort of crisis state (SOS signals, old snow storms, grasses twisted in disarray...) and the comfortable safety of the indoor routine (shocked by the developments in Uganda but noticed from the comfort of a wide chair) says something I wasn't expecting to say about myself: that I can sometimes lead a sheltered, perhaps academic, life. I mean, to place war atrocities next to a crossword tale of trout fishing and both as equal events to the man and his tea routine is, well...telling, right? And I suppose there is something to the notion that these are glasses found again. Glasses to see better with and yet there is instead mention of folding them while the routine is carried out, almost as if he doesn't want to see the truth about Uganda. So this is the reuniting with a friend (of sorts) with whom the subject wants to share his world the way it is. Did I say this was whimsical? Maybe it has to be whimsical to admit playing it safe.
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Spring Break