Pour a glass for him, our guest,
the harbinger of doom.
"I am the tender of weeds.
I coaxed each one to bloom."
(We are served at a rough-hewn pine table
under the summer-heavy wisteria bower.)
Our salads are of the finest
dandelion and nasturtium,
served topped by a lavender
hibiscus flower and sprinkled
with a mysterious rosehip vinaigrette.
Let us sit here for an hour
and talk of apocalypse
and April showers.
No comments:
Post a Comment