wilting bouquets
                               at a gravestone

we are keen to point out the
spinach
               in your teeth
flashing our own in mockey

there are graveyards in our closets
unmarked tombstones rattling
under each breath

& still we find humor in
your lack
grow vines of resentment at
your affluence

we were once all planted
in the same soil

not our fault yours
                                  had shade
not our fault yours
                                  wasn't watered
we shout as we

                                   s     t    o    m    p

on your leaves and pluck petals
                                  off your stems

and yet you
bloom
through the cracks of pavement
your florets blossom
amidst sand

not our problem
we whimper from our manicured lawns

a dog ****** on me today.