April Fox

Blackberry winter, they call it

riding in on the backs of the long, hot days of early summer

creeping up your arms and legs

like ticks

to suck the life from you

and the breeze is a violent embrace, and the moon is pale

and thin

and the light from the stars is always an illusion

but it’s uglier, more obvious tonight

Underfoot, the grass is sharp

and stings your nose with mint

and the chill crawls through your veins

like Valium.