Rose Garden

Published Date: October 14th, 2008
Category: Poetry

 

I think the first time

you said you

loved me was

under this same trellis at

the Chicago Botanic Garden

 

Is that why this

place beckons me?

I am no

Lily Pulitzer-wearing

North Shore Mama

 

Yet those roses they

call to me like a

freshly-squeezed mojito

on a

warm summer night

 

Those tasty roses

those little whores of a

flower that

beguile me with their

cheap aromas

 

Nothing like the

clinical roses bought from

florists

Dominick’s

stale rose mannequins

 

No, these wilting petals are the

ambrosia of the gods

and if I could I would mix a

salad of these silky petals and

place them in my shiny Nambe bowl

 

Hoping the

clean silver lines would

somehow trap the

satanic aroma

forever.

 

This entry was posted on Tuesday, October 14th, 2008 at 1:50 pm and is filed under Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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