Thursday, March 5, 2020

George Anderson writes

It was pleasant,
almost romantic
looking out 
our bedroom window
at the tall singular row
of sunflowers
by the fence
their smiling
glistening heads
dancing bright yellow
in the morning sun
their elongated leaves
like hands.
They’re beautiful!
I one day tell my wife. 
They sure were,
right up until
a flock
of squawking cockatoos
descended into the yard
one ripe afternoon
ripping the plants
from the soil
& carrying off
the choice
‘It’s a war out there,” she says
pointing to the back garden.

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