APRIL WIND

The last snow is gone
wrapped in a cool sunlight
as an Arctic April wind
intervenes off the coast
which makes me shiver
as a poet by the gazebo
nears the last swan boat
with the oars of a kayak
reaches in the back
for new beach sunglasses
a poet questions his path
in his day's diaries
listens to an F.M. radio
playing Bach and jazz
now at a poetry workshop
hearing a noon theater reading
gives a neighborhood ear
to Amy Lowell, Sylvia Plath
Ben Jonson and Shakespeare
now doing a half-mile run
by the Charles River
in a ten mile marathon
from an abandoned field
as a melee of rookie players
playing hooky
in woolen yellow jackets
after an off school night
not caring about their grades
play boisterously at bocce
from their heads to their knees
having their own bacchanals
making a fine racket
reacting as unruly renegades
hypnotized by gritty wine
and strong Sam Adams beer
demanding a group of tourists
leave and out of sheer spite
take cover over Audubon land
full of blue birds in harmonies,
yet this breeze is cast in respite
passing by an hourglass of fun
this poet leans on Evergreen trees
by the Public Garden swan boats
waiting for the starting gun
over the overcast sky
for the Boston Marathon
with boats along the sea
as a cruising ship floats by.