Springtime

In springtime the wrong plants grow.
Pungent smells of rancid blossoms
flood the nostrils of girls wearing sundresses
who stop to smell the youthul life.
Their noses crinkle, and they accept it.
This is the smell of the new Season.
Birds forgot their songs over Winter.
They sing the wrong music, and out of key.
They nest in cellphone towers and power lines -
in the car engines of convertibles
parked through Winter, the fools.
Springtime returns wearing the wrong garland.
Last year, when she returned,
she showed up in the wrong fashion again,
and this year,
she has only fallen further away, it is apparent.
Oh Springtime,
how you must have been splendid once before,
yet you come around too infrequently
and you grow old and careless in your time away.
You have forgotten how to fit in with this crowd,
silly girl.