Tiny Yellow Mums

Tiny yellow mums in the green plastic
hardware store pot bunch dryly.

Higher than the sex toy trees
a lone bird drifts. Wish again

for a city’s fire escape where the
tiny dog etc. and the screaming orange-hair.

In the alley she and the wet gunk
of a street where stores are. That easy hello

those who speak because you’ve
paid them. A table here. There a
jacket. Flowers and some
cartons of milk. By such things

you know yourself and when you walk
into yur rooms that you
close the door and lock it firmly.

Originally appeared in VOLT