I can’t get over the lies
they run now
in my river as salmon,
against my natural stream.
But I’m just a river lying to the ocean.
And I will come clean with salt ridden wounds
Today I sell bouquets on the curb,
presenting blue, red, lavender, pink
in plastic buckets.
I count, I choose, I pick, I occasionally
dare to be indifferent.
But they sit.
The cost is still in question.
What are they worth?
What are you worth?
The sun is behaving
I take a seat on
an overturned bucket.
these silly plants I have for sale
are my soul.
Are in my veins and my arteries,
pumping vital green juice back to my
I tell my customers
Drink them, drown in them or simply say
“No Thank you, Miss.”
I will always ask why
but the passer
will only wonder
what kind of saleswoman asks so many damn questions.
At this point, I often step away,
allowing for theft.
Just to leave them,myself, unattended.