on our fair earth
It would seem impossible for a house plant to have joy
loosely rooted in a glazed bowl of nutrient depleted soil
every third day fed plastic cups of fluorinated water
enduring yellow, rainless nicotine puffs
forever stunted like a secondhand son.
A withering witness, to squabbles and suffering
violent deeds and sudden ugliness
praying for sunshine=force fed shadows
wishing for a fairy on a breeze
but whiffing only shiny linoleum
bargain coffee and bacon grease.
Besides a bulb lit zoo puma, eternally pacing-pacing...
a house plant is the saddest thing I've ever seen.
Copyright © Anthony Biaanco | Year Posted 2025
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