Gone is winter’s blanket now
weathered salt dried
perspiration has left its marks
broken a step’s front tooth
a remnant of hardness
kicked down an empty street
footballed by father and son
between a scratched passing lane
split shucked maple wheels
flank the wheaten verges
of lawns littered with yesterday
cellophane wrappers butt
hidden habits tossed in snow
a compost bag blown over
onto a fertilized carpet of new
plastic ribbon, red, gold and green
bow twist tied to shattered twigs,
branches in history, now isolated,
birthday parades, plastic spoons unused
rough coughs and Ricola ripped wraps
a darkened distanced kiss, stolen
tussled in passion, a lost hair scrunchy
Robins return, carrying new worms
far, a feather woven into the thaw,
distanced from the season, gone.

∞

Submitted as part of “National/Global Poetry Writing Month” (#NaPoWriMo #GloPoWriMo).

Today’s prompt: Day Nineteen: write a poem based on a “walking archive.” What’s that? Well, it’s when you go on a walk and gather up interesting thing – a flower, a strange piece of bark, a rock. This then becomes your “walking archive” – the physical instantiation of your walk.