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Flowers

Staring at the cracked pavement
saving my eyes from the sun
and the scene
of flowers tied to a lamppost;
can of Stella shoved in amongst
bruising what must be raw enough already.
eyes watering, blinded I walk on
easy to imagine the screams
of gulls or the children playing
on the swings opposite
or a mother’s grief
a Bulldog ranges among the trees
Wolf again
I wish to join but walk on
shielding my eyes from the sun
I have an appointment.
 
Week later I see the same;
can gone but the damage is done,
drooping blackened petals caught
in the cheap plastic flap in the wind.
I brace myself and walk into the rain,
water washes over me as I push on
whistling along to the incessant whining
like the flowers, the love is dead
long live the love I whistle
remembering there is yet one
uncrushed flower
yellow among the grey

Other works by Johnny Cammish...



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