Spring has sprung a leak inside my brain,
tickling at my thoughts as doth the rain
pitter-patter 'gainst the window pane.

As spring-borne breeze through the window slips
my thoughts release of memos, business trips,
filled instead by dreams of clipper ships

that soar with grace and glee, their sails a-blown
not to Dubuque but toward parts unknown,
into worlds fresh and new, my stale past thrown

aside, forsaken at spring's altar-stone.
I plunge into a place that's all my own,
radiant, lustrous, comfy -- like a throne.

Far from frumpy cube-mates' grumpy glances,
beyond lonely, longing soccer moms' advances,
my imagination entertains romances

where, loosed of clothing, in my birthday leather
I roam free and frolic through the heather
with nubile nymphs named Meadow and Feather

and fertile Blossom, April, Lark, and May.
Together romping -- floating! -- through the hay,
with wanderlust we roam and while the day.

Black, brackish office coffee becomes elixir
that grazes my parched lips like fairy nectar,
a venti dose of joy from heaven's sector,

while at my ear sales manager Hector
prattles and rattles like a rusty rector
whose sermon rings hollow, a metal detector

that emptily echoes with a tired ping.
No, Hector does not feel the breath of spring
tickling tired fancies, making senses sing!

No PowerPoints, no pointless presentations!
Replaced instead by springtime's salutations,
by realms of thickets, birdsong and impatiens!

No more boring water-cooler prattle
about vacation cruises from Seattle
and resorts that herd you 'round like cattle.

No more talk of menopause or bladders
or timeshares or climbing corporate ladders.
Spring's fair clutches soothe them all to tatters.

Far from the parking lot's labyrinthine tomb,
away from the strip mall's tentacled doom,
I slip into spring's warm, soft and welcome womb.

Suburbs' blah now Elysian fields of flowers
abloom and graced by spring's rejuvant powers,
I crave life, not sedatives and whiskey sours!

Alas! The cell phone rings and my reverie
is replaced by Mrs. damning the SUV
which is in need of a new transmission, see,

and Pilates class has moved from five to three.
And should junior be in Honors or AP?
And should Missy get vaccine for HPV?

About me the sublime new world grows sullen,
replacing fantasies of pleasant pollen
with news of whose prostate is newly swollen.

My dreams are dampened, musings cleaved asunder,
as spring delights are soured by sudden thunder:
reality has wrenched me from my wonder.

-- Tim Bugansky