Conspicuous Bouquet
She was here the other day
She’s still here with her wooden cart, devoid of paint
She believed posies and periwinkle could feed her children
For a while, it was good
Not until the leaves fell off by the street
The cart was too heavy to push
And the newspaper used to wrap a bouquet had soaked
The lines on her face grew visible
And her hair lost its vibrant ebony hue
Her back against the ruined
Where big crabbed letters run across the dilapidated walls
The passersby in the city had become unfamiliar
Her head down,
Her arid eyes watching the parched petal
Of her sunflower
Till late evening, the flowers sit cold
Summer came, a young lad pushed the same cart
With the same sight of decorative flowers
And I never saw her again
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