Desperate Flower
The calendar is no longer a friend, its messages are clumsy
numbers working with the clock to drift her from men’s fantasy
that’s all she thinks of, life’s self acclaimed orphan
with a lonely heart, she curses every evening and bellows
everything romantic is now a sent agent of her torture
a kissing couple, the obsidian of her own eruption
others in her league, happily live beyond this need
matrimony is just one viola-type in the pancy garden of life
she values their strength coming from whom are her spoil-sports
but a dwelling is without walls, if not blessed with marital affection
age is marking her as late, for the time to reproduce
“I need a man” she screams it, this vacuum is inflatable
the edges of her circle come closer and are almost in contact
it’s time for the right person to be her hero and unbend her lines.
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