SPRING CLEANING
By Clay O'Dell
 

Spring your sin is cruelty.
 
I ransacked your closet searching for rebirth,
                      
But all I found was a picture of you
                      
Beating a one-legged tennis-pro, 30-love,
                      
with  a determined grin on your face.
                       
                      
Spring is the season,
                      
When you realize winter is not so cold
                      
In all of its dying:
                      
There’s the fiery orange of
                      
The leaves
                      
In their falling,
                      
And the snow-covered chemo-trees,
                      
That don’t need any leaves
                      
To believe they are beautiful.
                       
                      
Spring, in its over-green,
                      
Comes with the sweat smell of rain,
                      
As clouds grow gray and fat
                      
Like old men about to cry,
                      
In a pitter-patter pattern,
                      
Then it stops.
                      
More muggy, and more weary,
                      
And the whole world sags,
                      
Like wet leaves on soaked limbs.
 

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Clay O'Dell just finished his undergraduate studies at The University of Alabama with an English Degree/Creative Writing minor.