On the corner of Fort and Ferry,

on a late Tuesday afternoon,

the hydrangea bush near the statue

explodes into bits of poetry.

 

The hydrangea is ancient,

overgrown,

pushed through time

from ornate to eyesore.

 

Neighborhood discussions

favor substitution

of a young pink azalea.

 

So he cuts blossoms

out of blue-velvet paper,

writes metaphors

of beauty and love,

dignifies the neglected hydrangea

with one last moment of life.

 

Copyright 2017