Cyclamen in a Bathtub

This early morning caught the first sense of cool

Though the beguiling sun invited me onto the train

And out. And so began the randomness of journey,

A geranium opens tiny cups of orange;

The water draws a line against the horizon;

That building site

Of soil piled grey in heaps as a scar is cut, corrupting

The city’s shoreline with money; they’re growing

A casino…

A yellow flower protruding from the railway vine;

A cyclamen in the bathtub tossing pert white crowns

At the passing show. Words: indolent, impertinent

The magnate, not the gardener.

Home to huge blocks

Of freshly chopped-down palm tree from somewhere

I could not see for the dark.

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