March Madness

March stomps in with heavy boots,
Leaving a trail of wet, dirty snow across my floor.
Never invited, March comes anyway,
Into my house, my home.
With heavy footsteps echoing on the hardwood,
March follows me from room to room,
Waiting to be acknowledged.
I pretend not to notice.
But March is patient,
Everywhere I go, March is there,
Waiting.
Demanding I receive its memories.