Fertile
Fuchsia Fantasies
A
friend of mine calls them ballerina skirts
I
see the thin little legs and ball feet
Peeking
out from under purple and pink ruffles
Arms
gracefully extended
Head
back and arched
In
a rounded impossible lithe arc
As
she dances in the wind
Bounced
along to the entrance of spring
The
wet fat rain dripping from her
Not
skirt, but perhaps a hat
Arms
bending down to stretch out
The
soreness of winter
My
son sees possibility of pots of aliens
In
florescent suits
Landed
to grow
And
someday takeover
Splashing
shocking swaths of paint
To
brighten up our existence
Their
wrinkled faces
Grimacing
and winking
As
they extend their tongues
To
taste what we have
The
spidery legs
Wiggling
to life
With
each pass of cloud
And
stretching out to conquer
They
take over
My
exercising ballerina aliens
Delight
me each spring
Appearing
when I most need the takeover
From
winter’s doldrums and dreary delusions
I
delight in the fuchsia dance
Dominating
my garden
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