is a hard month for most.
It’s a bit cloudier, a bit colder,
(much unlike fresh toast).
We celebrated our holidays
together a few months ago.
In January, the memories still brought us joy.
In February, oh no, no, no!
Oh, what pathetic people are we,
huddling alone in our rooms
eating baguette after baguette
and chocolate by the spoon.
The little things that rolled off your shoulders
back in October or September
now make you want to yell or cry
or, perhaps, to someone, dismember.
Well, gee, I’d love to write that lesson plan
for your class tomorrow morn.
I also would’ve loved if you’d asked me
more than eight hours before.
Please stop assuming I’m wasteful,
cold-hearted, rich, and ignorant.
There’s kind of a lot of Americans
and it's possible we’re all a bit different.
No, I’m not dumb or unintelligent
just because I don’t understand.
Perhaps you could speak more clearly
and not cover your mouth with your hands.
Why are you standing so close to me?!
Stop staring at my face!!
Ah! The customs are so different
in this strange European place.
February Blues, what you do to me!
I’m so glad you’ve gone away.
March brings a lovely new month
and brighter, happier days!
But you wretched month, I know you’ll return
You’ll never, ever resign.
At least the next few Februaries
are only twenty-eight days instead of twenty-nine!
(Please, my friends, be aware
that I’m not really in too much pain.
Now that it's March, I’m once again content
in this country known as Spain.)