What The Roses Don't Say

What The Roses Don’t Say by Michael R. Burch Oblivious to love, the roses bloom and never touch ... They gather calm and still to watch the busy insects swarm their leaves ... They sway, bemused ... till rain falls with a chill stark premonition: ice! ... and then they twitch in shock at every outrage ... Soon they’ll blush a paler scarlet, humbled in their beds, for they’ll be naked; worse, their leaves will droop, their petals quickly wither ... Spindly thorns are poor defense against the winter’s onslaught ... No, they are roses. Men should be afraid. More or Less by Michael R. Burch for Richard Moore Less is more — in a dress, I suppose, and in intimate clothes like crotchless hose. But now Moore is less due to death’s subtraction and I must confess: I hate such redaction! Our Sweet Ecologist by Michael R. Burch Our sweet ecologist — what will she do with the ants and the cockroaches, bedbugs and lice when they want to live in her pants? Teach me to love: to fly beyond sterile Mars to percolating Venus. —Michael R. Burch 1-800-HOT-LINE by Michael R. Burch “I don’t believe in psychics,” he said, “so convince me.” When you were a child, the earth was a joy, the sun a bright plaything, the moon a lit toy. Now life’s small distractions irk, frazzle, annoy. When the crooked finger beckons, scythe-talons destroy. “You’ll have to do better than that, to convince me.” As you grew older, bright things lost their meaning. You invested your hours in commodities, leaning to things easily fleeced, to the convenient gleaning. I see a pittance of dirt—untended, demeaning. “Everyone knows that!” he said, “so convince me.” Your first and last wives traded in golden bands to escape the abuses of your cruel hands. Where unwatered blooms litter a small plot of land, the two come together, waving fans. “Everyone knows that. Convince me.” As your father left you, you left those you brought to the doorstep of life as an afterthought. Two sons and a daughter tap shoes, undistraught. Their tears are contrived, their condolences bought. “Everyone knows that. Convince me.” A moment, an instant ... a life flashes by, a tunnel appears, but not to the sky. There is brightness, such brightness it sears the eye. When a life grows too dull, it seems better to die. “I could have told you that,” he shrieked, “I think I’ll kill myself!” Keywords/Tags: rose, roses, roses are red, love, lost love, insects, leaves, ice, winter, men, fear, afraid, death