Hayfever Poem by Colin Phillimore

May, when my feet ache to feel soil, grass and sand
after Winter's curfew,
steps gently
into June.

The fullness and freshness of bushes and trees
purple Rhodedendrums
dominant throughout.

Then all Nature's healthy friends
become enemies,
nasal antagonists
merciless mercinaries
meaningless oppressors
turning simple pleasures
into unreasonable misery.

The scratch,
the sniff
of Nature's rift
Hystomin bullies
refuse to shift
airborne fascists
close my eyes with red raw tears
that long to melt in calmer haze
of burning sands
and worship sunful August days.

colin.phillimore@ntlworld.com
May 2001 June 2006