April Is

Chicago, wrapped now not in snow
But in the cold that lingers still
Increased by hellish winds that blow
(If hell is icy, as who will
Having lived this year believe
Otherwise?) down every block
And laugh at jackets--laugh and cleave,
For such attempts are worth the mock
When they can never save the skin
(Frail and human, cracked and cold)
That hoped to warm itself within
Which now the chill will close enfold.
Where is the spring? Where was the fall?
The winter has consumed them all.