Flowers on the bedspread
I used to be a certain way.
The flowers on the bedspread were mostly unnoticed,
Ordinary yellow blooms with a fold here and there,
Ordinary yellow blooms with a fold here and there,
and crinkled petals on days when the bed was left unmade.
They lay scattered in disarray,
and there never was an incessant itch in my veins
to pluck them out,
order and align them, like military men in a parade.
They lay scattered in disarray,
and there never was an incessant itch in my veins
to pluck them out,
order and align them, like military men in a parade.
In rows of horizontals
and columns of verticals,
'Wouldn't they look fine?'
The leaves erect, would face the west
while the bright petals opened to the east.
Uniformed soldiers in yellow,
marching in stillness, rooted to the cotton knots in the mattress,
hidden underneath the duvet.
Look closely now.
In a circle, they could make a lovely headband,
strung together with beads of pearls
Or maybe a condolence wreath for this sorry fool
that wishes to discipline the flowers on her bedspread!
Sitting in the midst of it,
Hair knotted up in a bun that cushions a mosquito carcass;
A muffin, a pile of books, chocolate wrappers and a lunchbox
encircle her on the bed..
begging to be put away.
But no! God forbid those flower patterns should mock her !
This woman of poise and wisdom
strives to arrange the flower patterns on her bedspread,
those rebellious blooms spread across in every which way!
PC-Picasso's Guernica
