The plant you gave me still hangs on
like us
two street survivors
leaves green
though a little tired around the eyes

But like an old newsreel
it's become a semaphore to a bygone era
when two confused vegetables
fought each other's weeds
refusing to march the hypocrisy goose step
of any clique of so called friends

You told me you hated liars
so I redefined honesty
though often caught you
planting those seeds
that need even bigger ones
to keep from dying
letting it ride for the times
my own set of conveniences
not strong enough to cast pollen into the wind

The plant you said
was a customary housewarmer
"Water it as often as my phone calls"
but as it grew
the weeds fled
and with them
the novelty of never sharing real beds

With roots finally severed
from your bag of magic beans
I spoke of growth
you cultivated envy
I hinted at sex
even with strangers
knowing well the herbicide
that'd stop our garden growing
though I recall a time
when you too experimented

And now the phone's become a semaphore
to a newsreel ended
final image
we marching in our own way
separately
though the plant you gave me
still hangs on
like a street survivor
leaves green
but a little tired around the eyes

I think I'll let it go to sleep

© 1992

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10/20/2014

Posted on 10/20/2014
Copyright © 2024 Chris Sorrenti