Bad At Flowers

Paul Vermeersch

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I warned you I was bad at flowers.

I only know a few, but then… I began

to name them, and I was struck by all

the flowers that I knew: roses, chowders,

geraniums, areolae, mason jars, Japan,

mayonnaise, owls, orgasms, eyeballs,

 

orgasms, deformities, mannequins, mice,

sneakers, gladiolas, kiwis, seaweed,

daisies, novels, gerbils, dimes, zigzags,

Tesla, amaryllis, crap, leaves, allspice,

albinos, onions, ovens, yo-yos, ragweed,

cava, owls, pansies, deltoids, airbags,

 

padlocks, orgasms, Star Wars, safety pins,

honey, crap, nickels, napalm, tin cans,

notebooks, horses, bedsores, Hondas,

owls, salmon, slivers, rifles, dorsal fins,

front teeth, parrots, trucks, apes, orgasms,

swimming pools, vinyl, peonies, jaundice,

 

outboards, Satan, owls, lotteries, bicycles,

lotuses, lilies, crap, Gertrude, lavender,

schedules, parties, spiders, super powers,

shipyards, coffee, crayfish, crying, icicles,

sasquatch, DJs, dugongs, violets, calendars,

bullets, orgasms, clover — all these flowers!

 

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