Forsythia yellows wink over to leaf
while white blossoms expand the color field of green
rain makes puce swirls in gutters
ink homemade paper waves to concrete.
Spring. Spring with all of the sprigs
reinvents more than plant life.
When it is this warm,
Big Daddy D comes out again
from wherever he rests
whether it's a nest of wood
or a brick framed hovel
nobody really knows.
Big Daddy D
is seen in passing
or unavoidable on the corner
where Ponce meets Moreland
just where it becomes Briarcliff.
He is like the four corners
of sign and traffic light
a signal
he flags his package in lycra
polyester-maybe cotton blend
biker shorts and tank top
sometimes with printed cotton excuse
for over shirt, sometimes not
carved cane in hand
or umbrella
he leans on stop
while always being on go.
Big Daddy D translated
means warm weather
fewer clothes
bees, pollenating, the fucking of everything
but most of all
the persistence of pick-up
of want
of maybe someone
somewhere
will pay him
cool him off, feed him
or just get him lucky.
When I saw him
unusual flower
bulge in cherry blossom
I smiled and waved
so glad he still lives.
The jazz of his face played notes
of response
he waved back and smiled
a blessing
a wirey tree
still reaching for the sun.
This spring will turn
into a hot, steamy summer.
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