Time, Changer of Seasons: A Tanka Sequence

don't touch me
your hand looks dirty...
I feel
something inside me fraying
something I drape spring dreams in

the inner voice cries
jump as high as you can...
summer heat
makes my feet stick
in white asphalt

accidentally
stepping on my neighbor's shadow...
he yells
at me, illegal alien
I see southbound geese fly overhead

first snow
a black boy gazes up at the sky
until his face
is covered with snow...
time to dye my hair blond?

unemployed
due to no Canadian experience
my little brother
stands at full attention --
writing poems needs nothing but time

Lynx, XXVI:1

Note: The concluding poem was reprinted in The Toronto Star (Sep. 10, 2011)