April

Bluff City of the North,
Under the ashen fog of a mid-spring dawn,
The Autos parked gently in a row, like a new game of Solitaire,
Being spat upon by the insults of a winter refusing to retire
Seeds huddle beneath the frost that may give way to muddy mire

The drizzle freezes.
The icy breezes
Keep everyone's temperament low-key.
The gray clouds hover above the darker clouds,
Which threaten to bolster the air hammer
That pounds the heads of citizens of depressed Midwestern towns

My friend, the hot blood
Flowing from ear tips to claws,
Keeps me warm and alive
I thank no one else

Translator's Note: Dima is obviously depressed. Secretly his heart sings for spring. Don't worry; warm weather is a-comin'.