I recant...

but only because I want people to like me and think my blog is cool, (obviously more important goals that speaking with uncensored honesty) which at this rate is not the net effect of my publishing efforts. But I have decided to give you one of the poems I've been working on as part of my senior project (but remember that this is still only a first draft). Think of it as a propitiating offering and don't leave nasty comments.

Your wistful girl,
S.

Finding the Geraniums, Gone

With the winter coming on,
I guess they felt they had to do it.
But now the neatly landscaped
plots of geraniums have been
decimated. Each plant
has left a pothole, a crater
in the world of wood chips,
a conspicuous absence of form
and flower.

And I wonder who did it,
who decided that trowel and
shovel and wheelbarrow should
do the work that a jealous frost
had set aside or was just
saving for later?

It must have been a dirty job.
I think they struggled, as
they were torn from the ground.
I can tell, because around
each pothole there is a strewing
of dark flannel leaves, the
bright shed drops of blood
red petals,
like a scattering
of hens’ feathers,
in a butcher’s yard.