SUNDAY MORNING DRIPPING SLOW

sunday morning
dripping slow like syrup
off the back of
a fork
clouds trapse lazily
across the blue
piano jazz and
knotty wood planks
early spring burns
the brush and leaves
the snow revealed
the smoke and the smell
ghost their way to my nose
like the coffee that
fogs my glasses
dreaming of far off locations
from this strip mall
in the parking lot
once monumental mounds
of plowed snow
have dwindled
and only their unhealthy
gray brown hulks
are left to cower and
beg you not to look at them
as you drive by
they pray for the sweet
release
of the late April sun
as do we all