Who Is My Neighbor?
This poor apartment dweller, lacking grace,
Has never had a single lease renewed.
He emigrates from place to place to place
And forages through garbage for his food.
Pariah to polite society,
The object of its arrogance and scorn,
To avoid his neighbors’ hostile company
He toils by night, retiring every morn.
So small (when danger lurks he just departs),
Nonviolent is how he’s always been.
Yet neighbors, nursing murder in their hearts,
Have always got designs to do him in.
Can any human tragedy approach
The trials and tribulations of the roach?
To the First Crocus
Dumb crocus, raising up your yellow head
To greet the ides of March (portentous date
For Caesar), can’t you learn to stay in bed
Like all your fellow flowers who hibernate?
Oh, Goldilocks, why are you so thick-skinned
That you—in your persistent need to grow—
Expose yourself to bitter, biting wind
And burial beneath a layer of snow?
How do you brave the elements we greet
Reluctantly with such apparent ease,
Still bright despite a buffeting by sleet,
Unbowed by Mother Nature’s cruel tease?
We cynics, cursing winter’s residue,
Cannot abide an optimist like you.