by Sylvan Migdal
A flower squats on the desk,
Sullen, remorseless,
A yellow carnation?
I don’t know shit about flowers.
It doesn’t look much like
Carnation™ brand condensed milk,
Which is a dull, soupy off-white.
The carnation is a dull, soupy off-yellow,
Crumpled like an origami rock,
Reflected incompetently by
The wood-like grain of the plastic school desk,
Surrounded by notebooks.
That carnation is kicking ass and taking names.
Watching me, waiting
For me to make the first move.
If its a showdown it wants
A showdown it shall get.
Aha! It moved first,
Yielding to the absent-minded push
Of the desk’s occupant,
Exposing its soft green flank,
Snipped and bare,
Now apologetic.
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