Sonnet 45 Poem by Morgan Michaels

I'm sick of winter. It thickens your snot.
It's cold, it's dark, it's god-awful freezing-
but not quite crediting spring
I'm going with what I've got.
I can make that filthy snowdrift there
lift into the air, disappear
or bristle with flowers
but that would be a sorry show of powers;
Anyhow, they've got a near-
sighted groundhog in Staten Island
didn't see its shadow this year:
suddenly, my heart's in the highland-
Who knew there was a rhyme
for Staten Island?