Go Ahead, Daffodils!

Go ahead, daffodils, and get your shout on!
Tell them now-green grasses that the sun is finally up!
Tell them four-legged hood-rats to keep on stepping
because you’re about to bounce out with color, my brother.
Color that snaps in your head and slaps in your cheek.

Go ahead, daffodils, and shine bright your yellow self!
Tell them white girls and black boys that the sun is finally up!
Tell them rain boots to get back in auntie’s closet
because you’re about to dance in the April sun like there ever wasn’t
no gray, like wet streets and degraded leaves wasn’t never your thing.

Go ahead, daffodils, and tell this city what’s crack-a-lacking!
Tell them they don’t have to be gray and dull and sad
and sullen and moody and mean-like.
Tell them they don’t have to look like death and act like it too,
because you’re about to pop like a bottle rocket on Kerby.

Go ahead, daffodils, and tell them real good!
Tell them to hold on and hold high
and push through and push on up
and stop tripping and stop clowning
like no good is about to never-ever happen.

Cause you are here, and we are feeling happy,
common and plain as you are.
You announce what we all have been waiting for.
You’ve arrived, and we say “uh – huh.”
Go ahead and brighten, liven, sing, and shine – that’s wassup!

Northside Porch

We sit here,
on this stained wood, and
we talk with Annie who always has something to say,
and we say hi to Teresa wondering how her girls are doing,
and we shout wassup to Lou as he complains about his Cowboys,
and we greet Brent as he walks his beloved yappy-happy Dachshund,
and we wave to what’s-her-name and feel embarrassed for forgetting her name, again,
and we give a fist-bump to Walter and his friendly family,
and we neighborly speak to the lady with the two small dogs who always seem lovably unruly,
and we smile and wave to Miss Marla as she dances down the street to gospel tunes,
and we holla at Jay who is no longer a boy,
and we watch the greasy-haired new man with his pit to make sure he cleans up after it,
and we miss the two West African brothers who moved to the Midwest,
and we say what’s up to sweet Jarris who is now very, very tall,
and we wave again at his mom Kristin who really is that sweet,
and we feel happy as the young Ethiopian boys play on our hoop,
and we chat with Ty and Julie who stay so fit with their lovers’ park walks,
and we speak with John and Jan who still grieve the loss of the black lab,
and we friendly-like hello Andrew and Justine who have stayed together through much loss,
and we sort-of-awkwardly acknowledge Lisa whose husband we no longer see,
and we cheerfully address the other Lisa who walks fast and smiles big with her ugly-cute pugs,
and,
I look at you and behold your beauty in street-lit lamplight,
and I think to myself,
it can get no better than this.

Photo by Ben Collins on Unsplash