'Seasonal Apathy Disorder' by Blair Hil

​Seasonal Apathy Disorder
Blair Hill
 
I hate the smell of spring time:
raindrops and freshly cut grass
make for dull companions.
I would much rather stay inside,
curled up with my favorite
cynical thought.
 
I hate swimming in the summer:
all the rolling laughter and joyful waves.
Itchy wool hats with side flaps
make for a more enjoyable passage of time.
I would rather roll around in the snow:
dark and coarse and melting.
 
I hate the sound of crunching leaves
and vibrant colors across hillsides
that sing the songs of the seasons.
I would rather be embraced
by silence that suffocates
all thought, along with coarse cynicism.
 
I hate the taste of hot cocoa
in the dismal season of cold
nights and caroling and ice sculptures.
I would rather sit in the
scorching sun and whither into
the empty shell of an airborne cicada.
 
I hate the changing seasons
like I hate the passage of time:
dragging on like immovable morals.
I would rather time fly by instead,
never allowing me to take in
the dank surroundings of my own seasons. 
 
Time passes.
Seasons change.
Life moves forward.
Accept it.
Or move over.  
 
 
Edited by Amy Owings