Always a Stranger
by Gene Auprey
Firsts buds to tout this early spring,our honeysuckle hedge has leafed
in a lime-dot haze that obscures
the view of my neighbor looking
back at me. We could be cordial
now till fall with mailbox nod
or lawnmower wave, on weekends
maybe lift a beer while cooking
on the patio but nature is always
in-between. For three seasons
amity’s censure comes in green,
the fourth is white and too damn
cold to lollygag around the yard.
Dead Reckoning — poems by Gene Auprey:
