Again, to March

I think I just might be doomed to loathe you for all time.
(I am trying oh so hard not to use that word, hate...)

I had hope for you this year, you arrived with such sunshine.

But then I remembered,
you are you.
you quickly did what you always do
you fickle, tempestuous month

You bombarded us with cold new snow
and blank grey skies
then teased us, again, with warmth and sun
for a day or an hour or a second or two
only to withdraw it
again
and these last few days you've tested my patience
with your delivery of cold, hard winds
that shake the very panes of my windows.

But NOW,
you've completely abolished any desire I had for a truce with you
by deeming it necessary to bestow
one last heartless dose
of particular misery
upon our household
with SICKNESS.

All three of my dear boys, one by one, have become feeble and infirm thanks to you.

My husband has an official case of pneumonia and the poor man wheezes all day and night.

My two wee ones are not nearly so bad, but they have hot little foreheads and their lungs bark in protest to what we call "the germies." I am taking them to see their Doc tomorrow.

Tonight I hear each poor boy coughing in turn,
tossing in their beds
struggling for rest
And I venture continuously to the room of my dearest little one
to cradle and rock and soothe him back to sleep.

You couldn't even spare him, you rotten pack of days, you.

It is probably a MIRACLE that I am not sick myself
(yet)
But I think deep down its because I refuse to give in
to your last efforts at torture.

I have 3 boys to take care of.

I don't have time for your tantrums.

Get thee hence,
thank you very much.