Month of Poetry, 2014, Day 2: Signs of Spring

Signs of Spring at Lunchtime

Released form the redbrick
prison of my days I walk,
hands in pockets, past
picnic table, broken ash
can, crumbled asphalt, pipe
spewing water from the
recesses of a vacant building.

A song sparrow sings
from top of a yellow twig bush.
I look for the bird's dark spot
and it flies off. I walk
past haunted granite, head
down until I hear cheerily 
cheerio from deep inside sharp needled
spruce––robins returned today.

The song releases my hands,

raises my head. Arms swing,

chest expands. I breathe for 

the first time all day only to find

the snow-melt mud smells of sewage.