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Postcuspward

Not quite spring
but not quite ready to be caged.
There are too many of us fluttering about
in here. Flapping our pages
while the presenter flaps her
jaws; the only beast-faced boredom present
today. She is barking something
important, but my eyes are on the birdseed
tink!tank!ing on our equipment
as it trickles down sporadically
from the tear ducts of some unseen chorus,
unsure of whether they want to cry
or no. Obediently they await the maestro's cue.
Meanwhile all the right angles grimace
menacingly upon them, slicking their hair back
and chewing their bubble-gum
tough.
But these buds bulging 
from the knobby branches 
of the apricots
balk offense and boredom.
“I will be everything all at once,”
they smirk boldly,
“you'll see.”

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