She sets the daffodils
vase and all
at the corner of the fire escape
Their sunny faces
brighten the space
She wonders (as she often does
of such obscure things)
How can they seem so cheery
when in fact, they're dead
For all intents and purposes
She travels through her mind
back to the park
with its meandering paths
and hidden treasures
It was there she first encountered
the lone bloom with the sunny yellow face
It seemed so far from its own
Down to its very bulb
she brought it home
and tenderly gave it a home
And then she cried
realising
it was watching the death
of its brothers and sisters
alone on the fire escape
With resolve she returned it
to its rightful place
vowing never again
to buy cut flowers
THE ROAD TO L.A.
I wonder how many steps it is from here to L.A.
If I start now, would I be there in time for Christmas?
I'll pack light.
Just the necessities.
Spare sneakers.
A new frisbee
and a few apples.
Strangers can be kind or cruel.
I guess it depends on what kind of day they've had.
That's just human nature, maybe.
If I keep smiling maybe someone will smile back.
The view from the fire escape seldom changes.
Maybe I need that.
The sameness.
Mock stability.
Dressed in costume for the audience.
L.A. seems so far.
Maybe a miniature palm tree
on the fire escape will suffice for now.