Green Hedgehogs

The day tricked me into a belief
that it was spring, but the sixties
and the yellow lamp above us
were as false as a workplace
confidant. What soggy ground,

and I picked my way among
moss-coated rocks, massed like a platoon
of Saint Patrick’s own hedgehogs, and a
woodpecker high up yonder let it
slip that he knew Morse code —
I caught him making fun of my gait
with his dots and dashes, in a

tree that will soon be ashes.
One bee, one wasp, and what have they
to light upon? One hour, one quarter
until sunset, and who will
make apologies to tomorrow?

~ S.K. Orr