mud season

Life on the Shoulder

I know the Winter winds still like to blow,
Keeping folks from walking the city streets,
Yet the time has arrived for it to go,
So we can emerge from our safe retreats.
I stand looking out the frosted window
At the empty chairs at the restaurants,
As the servers patiently wait below
For the locals to return to their haunts.
Only the icy chill goes to and fro,
Giving the advertisements their own dance.
Nobody’s there to watch their tempting show,
Giving the day’s market a fighting chance.
Tomorrow the sun will peak through the clouds
Building up the rise of summertime crowds.

The tourists just do not come anymore,
So it’s not worth our time to open shop.
Instead, let us work our way to the shore,
Letting our responsibilities drop.
Though the winter winds will still sting our face
As it tumbles down from the mountain top,
It portends the coming of summer’s race
When we can reap the green holiday crop.
But the moment now is for us to share
As we can pretend that the word did stop,
Gifting us with more time than we can spare,
Knowing that one day this leisure will pop.
It goes against all Capital reason
To enjoy the fruits of the mud season.