Can't remember if I've ever posted this before on a previous April Fool's Day, but here's a poem from 1975 that's reprinted in my book IT'S NOT NOSTALGIA:
April Fool's Day 1975
The day came on bright and shiny;
I didn't know what to say.
Spring finally here but
on April Fool's Day?
Does that mean more winter tomorrow?
Does it matter? Inside I feel tiny
watching my friends separate again, everywhere,
or the TV letting me know it's not over
or my special ignorance,
the dumbness only I can confront,
but still don't know how to:
not androgyny or drag in any of its forms,
not even poetry,
not even Spring.
In my heart there are shelves
and on the shelves there are too many books
and too many of the books are worn out
or boring or impossible to understand.
And in my hands?
Those little hearts
the poems that
even when dumb, are sacred.
I'm glad we all aren't naked:
it's not the sixties anymore.
I want to wear nice clothes
and carry on my life behind closed doors.
I want to sit with the rich
or hustling poor and still be myself.
I want to make my kids secure.
I want to share with them
what joy a good night's sleep
with bright and shiny morning
can bring to the heart—
the chance to start