The sun gleams,
and glitters, famously...
a gilded disco ball,
hung from the ceiling,
of a peaky blue sky.
White clouds, are stretched,
and whipped out,
to a spun-sugar confection.
The wind, snags my legs,
and my bare wrists.
I feel like a side of beef,
on a frozen meat hook.
I gaze, longingly
at the array,
of tender seedlings,
screaming,
to be unpackaged, at last,
and to be freed...
to be given unto the earth,
and surrendered to the elements,
like eager children,
that they may rise, and grow!
...but I can't seem to recall
any of their names, or faces.
...I'm a terrible mother.
Were you impulse buys?
...I hope you'll all be beautiful.
The arctic, unseasonal breeze,
bites at my wrists, again:
a bad-tempered dog,
with an impatient demeanor.
...**** all of this,
I'm going back inside.