The Heat

Once the temperature hits fifty
regularly, I scorn to wear a coat. 
It’s bravado
or fetish, really, not about
not being cold anymore, just that
it’s time for winter to go
and I figure maybe if I tough it out
it’ll get scared and back away.

Tomorrow
it’ll hit 70 for the first time
in 147 days.  I’m ready.
The daffodils that have been hanging tough
on the end of the walk can’t either. 

I can feel for those first daffodils,
the set on my corner, flashing their colors.  Tomorrow,
they’ll come into their own.  If they could swagger
and tag the neighborhood, they would. 
So would I.  The heat’s
got its eyes on us. 
We gotta represent.