Alan Reynolds
© 1999

Winter Hardship

These oranges on our table grew outside.
The February chill is nil, or light.
Yesterday, when I was occupied
with thinking should I try to disunite
my back from roof tiles where I lay to sun,
as reptiles do, and dress; address myself
to learning how this languid town is run -
I put that idea gently on a shelf.
I’ll take it up mañana, or, perhaps,
next week, or, if the sun shines, late in March.
My tapas lunch has launched a need for naps.
A lizard silly-devils on the arch.
I laugh, but not enough to call his bluff.
I sun like oranges grow. It is enough.