Rawhide hitting the leather, everyone & their hipster sporting sandals with the attendant smelly feet, the gently creeping bloom of color, body odor, roaring motorcycle gangs, suburban crackers thumping faux street cred from their tricked-out rides -- does anyone remember Zeppelin? -- yes, the diabolical sun is gearing up to make its annual rounds round town.
Which means this oldie but baddie torn out of the great web in the sky:
Spring has certainly sprung, how can I tell?Sniff, that's bloody awful doggerel.
Tolling of a bell, 60° hell?
Absence of ice or a blizzard of snow,
Moonboot prints as far as the eye'll go?
Gasp! No! something far more insidious,
Vilest demon haunting each of us!
A puff of smoke, a whiff of gas that kills
First flowering buds, birds on window sills.
Servant of the state, what on concrete lie?
Three or four butts, wrappers, clean that pig sty!
Infernal grinding, black cacophony
Of filth in our eyes, morn's dark misery.
Grimy combustion, gusts kicking up dust,
Lord, our bane has returned! thy words we trust:
Run, run from the Beast, faster, not slower!
The Devil's creation, the leaf blower!
Sniff squared, sweet printemps retch.
Logarithmic infinity sniff, what, no room for Roombas? Ten buck old fucker claws. There aren't that many cig & stogie butts down & out, buttheads.
GRIM REAPER UPDATE:
Whaddya know, it is raining.