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Spring in the suburbs

slanted shadows straining through fence slats
the last claws of winter
come to take back their snowfields

the steady trickle of the great melt

a stumbling fly blunders onto my windshield
as I sit eating fries at McDonalds
supplanted by the scavenging seagull
who watches me carefully
hand to mouth, hand to mouth
I save one big fry for him, but too late
he flies away disgustedly
I call out the window “Jonathan!”
no answer, so I eat the fry

I walk through the sad streets
no budding beauty yet
gutters lined with November’s remnants
flattened paper cups and bags and cans

in the heatwave of 7 degrees Celsius
smells of spring their aromas bring
the backyard carpet of fermented leaves you thought you had raked
the sick fruity smell of pickled dog dew
the shoe sucking mud
a compost of roots and grass and bugs and worms
just waiting to push up those hyacinth bulbs
if the eager squirrels don’t get them first
the black stew leaching from your eavestroughs

the final deluge on the dirty grey banks of snow
as the furious sump pump overheats in the basement

all of this miasma of rot
from which comes our most glorious time of the year



Lee Dunn View All

Lee Dunn has been writing since the age of 18, but found that work got in the way for the ensuing 48 years. In his home town of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, he reveled in his independence at an early age, and spent as much time as he could exploring the city’s Arts scene. He was introduced to poetry and prose by the works of two literary giants, namely J.R.R. Tolkien and J.W. Lennon and thence fell in love with the written word. His work includes poetry, short fiction, and personal essays, and ranges in theme from the surreal to the horrific, nostalgic, and themes on the human condition. He has been published on, The Dark Poets Club, Journal of Undiscovered Poets, Crepe & Penn Literary magazine, and the Shelburne Free Press.

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