Riding the city bus, I Looked
down and saw the stickly green
sucker - possibly displaced
from make-up flowers or house-bound plant.

Seemingly struggling with it’s wings;
struggling like I do sometimes
with mine. I wondered how it would
fare, this broken tanker, fallen:

steering west across my legs;
clinging to my dry sea
of cotton - every crease a wave
each crossed-stitch a current.

- May 2007