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Tuesday, July 10, 2012

Poem: Shower Flowers

Blooming flowers
In the white-bricked shower.
A forest of green and pink
Surrounded by suds and bubbles.
They thread their roots
Through the drain holes.
Their emulating faces brighten the scene.
Blooming flowers in the dreary, dreary shower.
What’s next?
Moths repairing lace?
Clover in the gutter?
Pines in the desert?
Steaming stones?
But DreamWorld starts here:
I was comforted by my first enemy,
Had a bright conversation with my pretended friend.
We rode bikes home together,
And we were with a friend-that-used-to-be too.
She was nice.
Nothing is what it seems to be.
Tomorrow you may hate your mother,
Think your BFF’s are annoying.
The world isn’t black and white and clear.
It’s gray and gauzy.
Why that dove of peace may very well be
A foolish white pigeon.

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