Through smoky eyes and shaky hands,
Red flowers grew in metal tubes
In parking lots off 92.
Streams of apathetic smoke
Pushed through not-yet tarnished lungs.
Teach 'em young, Lord. Teach 'em right.
A little high to keep up the fight.
Fear fades all drugs, save
The ones peddled through news teams
Or weekly shots of Heaven's golden gleam.
Stoned apes rage within shopping malls
Classroom halls, or through loose-lined laws.
Sand sifts through slits beneath our rounded glass
filling the the timid jars below with spent time.
I drove past 92.
I saw no flowers bloom.
The kids must be home
Smoking in their rooms.
One thought on “Red Flower”