If I wore wasps in my shoes would I be more assertive?
Not distracted by the flowers on the zebra crossing
a beheaded bouquet of roses, onlooking
four bold tombstones of paint
I cross them like missing planks in a rickety bridge
drop into the graveyard and sniff the poppies,
azaleas piss stained and catching carrier bags
a waste bin for personal tragedies, daisies at war
with the rain drops, damps my scent
but your honey glazed door calls.
Stood, formal as a funeral on your welcome mat
I think about placing my shoes on my hands
and kicking the door down
But I’m holding down trodden dandelions,
you said you only like wild flowers after all
In the other, I’m holding my plushie, a microwaveable dinosaur
with lavender buttocks, that you gave me
to learn how to relax.
I feel claustrophobic in the sheet rain
laying with drowned bees
wondering how long they stung your letter box,
hoping you’d open up.
You only know I exist when outside represents spring
sun glossed, baking the lavender buds
You only know I exist when you find
the cuddly dinosaur on your doorstep,
laying with waterlogged bees and then
I worry you’ll accuses me of cheating on you.
One thought on “Where We Lay Flowers”
This is beautiful… ❤