May 4, 2009
Part of why we’ve come back here
Is to see the planted carnations
In the front of your yard.
Their lips disagree on colors.
White to pink to red to white.
Ever so confusing.
Like a fishermen and
His catch of the day.
Trout to salmon to lobster to trout.
Ever so confusing…

You sit knee-bound on blades of grass
And command them to rise
And be beautiful.
But things don’t work that way I tell you.
I grasp your hand and tell you
To cuddle them gently
And whisper half-lies to make them

That makes you smile.
And you tell me that things don’t work
Like that either.
So we leave from
The front of your house.
And the carnations disagree on colors
Red to pink to white to gray.

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