Day After Tax Day

Spring is here & it’s raining everywhere
but that’s okay because today I saw
a very pretty line (row? queue?) of tulips
& then a great-looking city bus &
I couldn’t decide which one I liked best
while I piloted my bicycle through
alleys—this town has great alleys—puddles,
& singing brightly orange pylons, loud
in the Monday grey, high in the steam,
the fresh burn. The crumbling curb, too, looked
almost majestic but then I remembered
I was sick & gave thanks that I was not
sicker. First came fall, then a dry mild
winter, and now spring stands still
like a legal pad I made a simile, & what
I meant wasn’t yellow but something
the color of slate & soon I’m back home,
my bike slides to a stop. I removed the light
so thieves couldn’t steal it to brighten
their corners & now the day is half-gone.