Byooddefil

They are so byooddefil
the flowers
whom spring has ridden through
on way to summer –

wind-bruised,
rain-bent,
oh, the slings and arrows of their fateful fortunes
with the feeding of a thousand

sharp-beaked, long-tongued
birds and beasts,
repeated couplings of gross beetles
on sweet silky virgin petal beds –

disordered now in luscious droops
the flowers aren’t disposed
to poise; but, like byooddefil sluts
gossiping after hours

they hang around their stalks
in the manner of those
whom Life has used so
they don’t owe

anybody
anything
for being
byooddefil.

                                   18th November 2014

 - Silke Heiss