Poem of the Week: Season of Icicles

By Harry Waitzman
Clarkstown Poet Laureate

Spring, where are you hiding?
I hear the Moon sneeze
and Mars has a cold.

Winter, why are you sleeping
under a worm’s warm stomach,
in the ear of a mouse? Move!

Snow and sleet will soon
turn to leaf, melting in rivers
at maple’s feet. Ants leap

puddles. A praying mantis
nods to God. Green grass spears
clouds, sneaks screech at play.