The Radio is Full

by Lindsey D. Alexander

of people singing in-love
love songs. It’s spring and the sun has shown up
after flaking on evening plans for a season,
but the band isn’t holding grudges. Neither
are the fans—we’re all happy for the lead singer’s return.
Welcome back! I’ll buy the T-shirt for the memories.
All the leaves on everything coming to fruition
like palm readers have predicted for years:
the little plants photosynthesizing merrily,
the big plants photosynthesizing above. The wind
moving away
papers, sheet music; just enough of a wind
to blow off work and to convince me to freewheel.
The cars in the parking lots aren’t driving like maniacs, nor are their drivers.
They’re just forgetful and blissed out.
The shandys fill the aisles—I buy some for
the thrill; Easter grass is on sale. The grocers on their breaks
laugh on the patios not in the cynical way
of winter grocers. Kinder.
The Vitamin D—
oh, who cares about the science? What about dancing?
I’m not even kidding:
A yellow butterfly Axl Rosed past me on my way out the door
into the world that is
in love with itself.
A major narcissist.
But an attractive one—
a mistake (today today today I feel it’s one) worth making twice.