"They Had You Send Flowers to Hell"

They had you send flowers to Hell

The compost sufficiently crushed, He proceeded
with His butter knife in great sweeping strokes to smother
the narrow grooves in the red clay carved...
Grains and seed in the black refuse
were evenly spread and they flowed
in viscous hesitation toward the
holy nooks and crannies and settled,
dried and germinated
to be harvested in September.

He frowns; a single seed refuses to sprout
He pokes and prods and it refuses still.
He waters it and waits.

A healthy shade of green we all now were,
with grace unto His August Sun;
we curled beneath it, conquered.

Our swaying in directions East
did freeze our eyes and minds at least
and had we faced in fear the West
the fires would catch and burn our chests.

They had you send flowers to Hell.

"They answered the door quite modestly
then raped and murdered and pillaged me.
No reason then to sit for tea,
they raped and murdered and pillaged me.
After all it's not my fault
they raped and murdered and pillaged me.
I'll take it with a grain of salt,
the rape and murder and pillaging.
His teeth were sharp and skin was red.
He ate the flowers whole, I said.
Perhaps it was that they were dead?"
"Who knows," I say with shades of dread.

On the shelf, the sprouts did thrive
and swell, did He, with joyous pride.
But lest he wait another year,
he called upon the coward Fear:
"Lay out your tongue!"
The organic lump of chewed up plants
would make his sprouts both writhe and dance.
He brushed away dust
from the new clay pot
and laid a new layer
of refuse and rot.

They had you send flowers to Hell;
brought you He the daisies? That's not right
He indeed prefers hydrangea.