or is it the other way around
when the drops from trees
punctuate my roof with ellipses
of waiting for real weather,
not this half-way stuff
of indecisive February,
that in fickleness
can’t make up its mind
and throws everybody off—
opening questions of clothes
to fit the weather.
I can’t wear my whole closet
the day is demanding.
I’ll put on the wrong outfit
like the fearful adolescent
who under dresses, or worse,
wears the tux to the football game.
I wish both of us
could finally make up our minds.
27 February 2013
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