Beverly M. Collins

Green June Bug Feast

Thorns

 

The evening’s shape coiled in

readiness before a night about-to-strike.

We moved in two different directions

like lost runaways in search of the last

streetcar before a windstorm.

 

The twist of exchanged words churned in my

stomach. His look pressed like fingerprints

on all-of-empty-me, his gaze seared like angry touch.

 

Our voices, beaten by the wind, broke near

a cracked walkway. This chapter between us,

fragile from years we strained a flimsy connection.

Raw incompatibility showed true colors as crushed.

 

roses. And the scent of love gone awry. Red afloat

on darkened waters. We became a spray of thorns

that drifted.

"Yellowjacket on pink flower"

Petal Gossip

 

Pollen is all the rage

as buds awaken and wings flutter.

 

There has been shocking

reports of a band of snails

sneaking like pirates and

 

unruly Dandelions screaming

that they are yellow too,

openly at the Sun.

 

Our sources tell us:

red is the new red,

pink has pales in comparison

and some leaves have curled

green with envy.

 

This is Lana-Ladybug here,

reporting live from the edge

of the flowerbed.

Stay tuned for more

of “Life Among Roses.”

 

(First published in San Gabriel Valley Poetry Quarterly, #61)