Cutting in came a toff
the smooth, smug kind
and as jitterbug turned to disco
smooth-guy moved a bump and grind,
seems it felt as if you'd been left behind
and that's when it all kicked off.
So you pulled her a fast one back to your dorm
and in Cuban rumba rhythms both unadorned
where rough, was how you blew your horn
while siren sounded her unruly plume,
raging at the merry dance you had led
till dawn found her hung like the looming brume
that draped your battlefield bed.
When life is hard and unforgiving
there's a space
a place I come to.
Where I review my stock
even though I know,
each repository within.
On occasion I go early
to smell the earth,
watch it steam a rising dawn.
Inhere, seasoned as compost,
I am black gold,
borne out of the rotting mound.
With a grace
that belies their
Crocuses yellow and purple
like hands in prayer
and congregate beneath
milk-white, drooping bells.
Flowers that shoulder us
out of the darkest days
with a cheer.