Imagine if each
rose planted near me
had its own iPhone
imagine them mulling
purposefully
but unable to move
Nor can I, a bush,
go inside—or anywhere—
when it rains
The trees
at least bear fruit
(some of them)
but all I
produce is bunches
of waxy leaves
A rose is a rose;
or a rose by any other
name; roses
attract poetry but I,
flowerless and fruitless,
attract nothing
but caryatids—
Wait, I mean
aphids
True we share
this plot with three
lovely caryatids
They need no phones,
their gazes are lifted;
they have no hands
• • •
Wednesday, August 23, 2017 at 12:26 pm
Best iPhone poem I’ve ever read;
nb…
“they,” for “the,” last stanza…
and perhaps a comma, for music.
-Ed
Sent from my iPhone
Wednesday, August 23, 2017 at 12:58 pm
Done and done! Thanks, Edward.