The sun is moving higher into the sky,
The days are bluer and brighter,
The pigeons are happily in flight,
The rains have been suspended,
and the beetles will soon begin to emerge from their
slumber in the earth.

Not long now,
And we will swelter,
In the blinding “Washington DC” sun,
That hangs like a bare light bulb,
from a wire above us.

The squirrels will take to running,
Crossing the concrete streets,
Searching for victuals.

Our little patch of planet is swinging,
Toward the furnace of “Sol” at a thousand miles per hour,
Soon, very soon its full effect,
Will broil the tops of our heads like eggs frying a pan.

Let us enjoy this in-between time, while we are still able!


  1. Reid Baron says

    Almost Asian-sounding in terms of sentiment and expression. Nice capture of a moment. Keep pen in hand!

  2. Judy Mandel says

    Love your descriptions and the feeling of fleeting spring this evokes. Very nice.

  3. I really enjoyed this poem, especially the image of the sun like a bare light bulb hanging from a wire above us. I also like calling spring the “in-between time.” The voice in this poem combines light hearted phrases with grim details of earth, like line about the squirrels crossing concrete. You get the sense that while all might be right now, we’re heading toward a disaster. The writing in this poem is nice and straightforward, and the poem is well paced. Thank you! –Molly

  4. Love this poem, SJ. The sun hanging “like a bare light bulb from a wire above us” is exactly right. I can feel the sun’s heat from your words. I also love the optimism you express. I will try to remember to enjoy the in-between time!

  5. SJ,

    I love the visual of the sun as a light bulb hanging from a wire. Also, you taught me a new word! “Victuals.” I will have to find a way to use that in my daily conversation. As a native Washingtonian, I appreciate your ode to Springtime before the oppressive summer heat rolls in.

  6. Your pacing is amazing! There is something very satisfying about reading this aloud. The imagery of Spring is string and really lends to the feel of the poem. Your style makes me think of Robert Frost mixed with Langston Hughes. Strange and wonderful all at the same time.

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