The monotony of March never seemed to end

until teacher had us touch oozing larva,

grow fat camouflaged chrysalis into butterfly,

watch it drink through its proboscis.

We counted robins, wrens, finches flying

back to feed on seeds strewn in the park,

discovered iridescent faces of crocuses,

fuzzy buds of pussy willows, petals

soft as sinews of the new- born babe

on daffodils and tulips.

A ballet of bees hovered over sage and oregano

planted in empty milk cartons; ladybugs

dined on plant lice, centipedes ran away

from snakes and swooping crows.

Home, father in the basement oiled up

his Shakespeare reel, fly-casting for Rainbow Trout

the day the season opens in shadowy pools

of the Esopus.

Mother in the kitchen baked Hamantaschen,

roasted capons in a new glass rotisserie.

Brother under the Dodge black with soot

banging off the muffler, changing plugs, points

and condenser to soothe its coughing sputter.

In a scene I’d like to hang up on the wall of my mind

a lithe young boy warmed by rays of April sun

sauntered along a cascading creek scooped

up tadpoles, fossilized rocks and an hourglass shed

skin of a copperhead snake he brought to school

for “show and tell.”

Returning home I’m a goofy Katzenjammer kid

racing up and down the driveway at 50 miles an hour

in my Pontiac pedal car, a Lucky Strike candy cigarette

dangling from my lips driving to Sacramento where

my uncle lives who tells me its like Springtime all year long.