who sat in the middle of
empty‑midnight‑plaza‑parking‑lots
pretending
it was the field
that last century shivered green
under the purple night winds
She would gather bouquets
of cigarette boxes
ad pamphlets
chocolate bar wrappers
wrap them
in yesterday's obsolete newspaper
and present them to me
like a foreign princess making favours
saying
. . . . . . “They are the only marigolds
. . . . . . . and chickory I could find.”
Published in Waves, Vol.2 No.2, 1974
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