Tuesday, March 29, 2016

Sarah St Vincent Welch #87 Nasturtiums



the last poem chalked
on the arc of the footbridge
nasturtiums twining
from a suitcase – crept
past the edge dangled
over the freeway, flowers
dusk orange, yellow,
round leaves laughing

at the end of the bridge
a lake, and a rummage,
the secondhand crowd
macramed, bric-a-bracked
steampunked and pumping
with wants of commerce
turning old into gold

the nasturtiums overflowed
thirsty tendrils leapt
into lapels, brims, hairbands,
beards,
wreathed foreheads
and waists,
laced boots and corsets
and bicycle wheels
wrapped the city in
word salad, climbed over
office towers,
reaching to light


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