You are prickly, Frieda Rose.

A fiery, petulant, pugnacious, pouty soul.

Compliments have to be

massaged carefully

Like ointment

onto your fragile ego

Sweet nothings must be

delivered in drops

Like antibiotics

into sensitive ears

Caresses must be gingerly layered

like surgical gauze

over damaged emotion.

For you are prickly, Frieda Rose,

A barbed cactus

among soft-petaled dahlias.

Copyright 2018