Impatience

small pieces
of metal, plastic shards,
and blanched paper
boast their positions,
then mingle with
frail sliver boned
spit
of neighborhood cats,

cigarette filters
white and amber
attempt to
breathe back their form,

fallen
scattered
tree garbage of
deep dark brown
strain to decay and
apologize for their presence,

rocks shuffled by shovels
heap into obvious piles
wishing to return
to ambiguous places,
while reluctant rain
slowly washes over
faded blades of grass
bent over
to try on
new spring fashions;

I wait for green,

the buds
the stems
the weeds
the moss
the thorns
the stalks
the leaves,

St. Patrick’s Day
and Mountain Dew
must suffice
for weeks.