Thursday, April 1, 2010

Unfinished thought

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


Not today.

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.

Please buy.

The cost is still in question.

What are they worth?

What are you worth?

The sun is behaving

behind clouds,

I take a seat on

an overturned bucket.

Suddenly realizing

these silly plants I have for sale

are my soul.

Are in my veins and my arteries,

pumping vital green juice back to my

contradiction heart.

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.