Spring Walks

I am the worm pulled
from the grass and clover
by a crow's quick tongue:
segmented and chewed.

The ground becomes soft
under my feet and the mud
is slick like sex. My dress
is damp, clings like the child
I used to be, and muddy as I am,
I could be that child again.

A thunderstorm breaks
into shards of lightening.
Rains streams down
the contours of my face
like tears, washes away
the makeup and half-truths
to restore innocence to my eyes.

Look away, stranger.
I want no part of your
rubber coated, passing
pedophiliac fantasies.

Get on the bus and go home
to an unhappy wife and worn
out apartment building.

Spring is for the children
who still believe
in beautiful things.