Day after every day
you consider, then reject
and consider all over again,
like searching for the crocuses
you put in last year
as an investment
in the color of the sun.
Finally locating buds
peeking amber through the snow,
they’re no insurance
against the coming of the dark,
so it snows again.
As with searching and repeating,
the black is a constant--
There’s no hedge against the dark
upon which to retire.
Izy asked the Real Toads to create a list of three words or phrases specific to the worst job we ever had, and craft a poem using them that has nothing to do with work. My words are investment, insurance, and retire, and my title counts, too.