The planet’s mood is astir in March,
Some rain, some snow, clouds and wind,
Seasons move over a trembling arch,
Storms and clouds blow unconfined.
Not north or south, but o’er all the field,
Seasons mixed, upside down,
Chaos is loose, it will not yield,
To any pattern that can be found.
Like a person with fickle mood,
The gusts whirl by in great force,
Our weather book, forecasts unglued,
No guide to set a steady course.
Our propulsion demands a tank of oil,
The shortage brings its own trauma,
And, leaderships is likened from a gargoyle,
Do skip headlines in this closet drama.*
*closet drama– a work to be read and discussed for its complex themes.
Francis Conlon is a retired and recovering teacher. For the past 20 years, he has worked as a seasonal river ranger and boat inspector at Yampa River State Park in northwest Colorado. He has published in the local Valley Voice and in Westward Quarterly. He currently lives in Salt Lake City, Utah.