22/05/2018

The bed of roses


It was a dark and stormy night
and on closing the front door
for a two hour tragedy, see a
gift has swept up on the path
a row of bright red roses in a brick base
soon revealed by forensic analysis
to be constructed from plastic and foam
convincing only from fifty feet and
easily transported ‘pon a tempest from
balcony or o’er feeble fence

First thought best thought was that you had
rocked up wild-eyed windswept and filled
with the passionate intensity
hurled it from a passing taxi / vehicle
as a contemptuous christmas present
a nod to the fake, the flimsy,
the indecent lack of seasonal miracle

The intrigue and high disdain, the
magnitude of such a gesture would have
lent some glamour to the bleak
midwinter, as you trudged into
the deserted heart of the city
like there was somewhere you needed to be

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