Change in the Weather
Spring Festival started
and Spring burst in;
the timing was impeccable
but the stay was short.
It delivered its catchphrase,
Fu dao le — Fortune’s here! —
and skedaddled, leaving us oddly
disaffected, bereft, and suspicious,
wondering if it’d been flipped
for real this time, who it was working for.
Others enter uninvited behind it
and overstay their welcome.
Propaganda leers in the corner, Bureaucracy
fidgets with everything on the counter.
Nationalism mouth-breathes, Economy
dribbles peanut shells onto the couch,
Positive Energy makes it all about himself.
Outside, a magpie snaps to attention
at the sudden change in weather
and springboards into the air.
That night, we got a noise complaint:
Winter said, What do you think you’re doing?
and dumped snow on us to show who’s in control.
I cleaned up by myself, hoping
next year the party will have different guests.
Speaking of hope, whither? Still on its way;
gratification delayed is gratification saved.
When the present is like this, we live for the future.