Early Crime
EARLY CRIME
Old man’s garden overcrowding
Vegetables between the roses flowering
Network maze of strings and sticks
Wheelbarrow with stones and bricks
Rainwater in old metal barrel.
Late summer decaying cabbage roses – pink coral
Intoxicating perfume and petals about to fall
Hanging not by threads and strings but by sheer will
Their life shorter than a shy girl’s laugh
Tomorrow they would fall off
Delicate soft flakes of perfumed damask
Wide open the last drops of sun to ask
And the last last rays of rain to soak.
Left alone while two men sat and spoke
I played with roses’ stems
Bending under the weight of blooms on them
As I felt the softness of the petals
The biggest ones dropped all
Their damask in an instant
Down to the petal-carpeted soil it went
I was left clutching the thorny stems
With no flower at all on them.
Men came back after their chat and
Found me with string and stem in hand
They joked about my rose-destruction time
But I felt guilt, it was a real crime.
In my mind’s maze still remembered today,
Child memories do not easily decay.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Entered in Paula Swanson's Contest "Childhood Memory"
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
