Real flowers grow here
Don’t dawdle, girl
Pull up your skirt
Run down the street
and gather smiles from the bakery men.
Her knees are nimble
Her eyes are yokes
Her skin is clean with youth.
Remember to put flowers in the basket
Pin back your hair and bat those eyelashes
like the boys bat in the major league. And
Don’t forget to smile
You must never forget that.
Past the bakery men
To the open space beyond the street
Where one can still hear crickets at nightfall
And lamplight is replaced by stars
And the grass holds her body in a different way.
Real flowers grow here.