It is foolish to think you can fool April
with bright balloons and colorful plans,
gatherings of eager hearts.
April still knows snow, disdains
the hopeful smiles of children
who wait in vain for sunny play.
Rain is April’s message, prolonging
the held breath of May, promising
only a fool’s failure to remember.

OTHER APRILS
Tank tops and shorts
on the first warm day of April,
sprawled on the dorm lawn
in adolescent abandon,
air smelling of
baby oil, iodine,
and sweet spring sweat.

Boy child and ball
on the first warm day of April,
laughter on a learning curve
stumbling in wet grass,
air smelling of
new mud, wet pine,
sweet sun after rain.

The Eiffel Tower
on the first warm day of April,
arm locked with arm
among the winds of Paris,
air smelling of
wine, tulips
and a lover’s sweet caress.

Contemplating the dappled shade
on the first warm day of April,
glider swing creaking
its soft lullaby,
air smelling of
lavender, memories,
and sweet seasoned dreams.