NOTE: I like the way April can be so playful, so maddening, and so beautiful. I have come across many poems that personify April, or Spring, and as female, so I thought it might be interesting to imagine April as a boy. sylviacavanaugh.com
April is a Red-Haired Boy Named Lip
with your unruly curls
and knocking against furniture--
tell me some knock-knock jokes,
laugh at your own farts,
put sugar in my salt shaker,
glue a silver dollar to the sidewalk.
Challenge me to a footrace
down a dandelion hill.
we’ll blow right past Sisyphus.
let’s play poker.
Ask me why the chicken
crossed the road.
Look at me hard and true
before your green-eyed
glance flickers and darts away.
© 2019 Sylvia Cavanaugh
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