When my boys were ten or so
on a fishing trip we did go
In my rough old ute through a city street
Roadworthy standards it probably did not meet
Suddenly behind us a flashing blue light
Bloody cops they always cause a fright
I pull over my two boys are on the floor
these cops approach the drivers door
Thoughts are forming how can I divert their attention
pretend I,m lost they pullout their street map direction
Once again we're on our way
My diversion's worked no traffic fines today
Next day before the sun has risen
catch some fish that is what we envision
Finally rays of sunlight filters through
The creek has dried up, no water is in view
It's rare I see my fifty year old boys today, I wish
Once again together we could go and fish
Footnote: I go back forty years . I wonder do they still make street directories
I looked out side to find a nice day in the month of May
And was walking in the evening just to say
I almost cried and my hands got cold
And winter month got so bold
It was so frustrating and out of the norm
And each person in their heart had a storm
It's the month of May what the! happen to spring
And my headache began to ring
Most people on the first day of May was so happy
And now they look out on the second day sappy
I just want everyone to know it is May 2, 2013
And nothing should be in between
So pullout your snow shovels in dismay
And things you should know will be okay
So good morning to all and to all a good morning
And I just want you to be out their in a warning
The snow is at six inches and beyond
And you will not see green grass in dawn
I help myself by writing this poem
And I will be staying at home
Crazy the weather became bad in May and nasty
I brought out some of my snack and that was tasty
I just looked outside while I was eating
As the snow kept on beating
A deputy leads the way
up a winding mountain road
to a pullout by a bridge.
From there, we hike up rabbit trails
and shimmy over logs
with late spring runoff
rushing underneath.
At last we come
to a grassy fringe of meadow,
lush with lupine, buttercups
and columbine. The deputy
points to a length
of floral silk
tossed aside, now circled
with police tape
yellow as butterweed.
We search, but
we find nothing.
No dead body, no
evidence of crime.
I gaze out over the lake
and wonder what lovers
happened on this place
forgetful as heaven, and left
only this proof
behind.
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