Backyard Fence


The poinsettia tree leans

sombrely toward the back fence

I take the view of it in from the clothesline

like a painting

on a summer afternoon

a surreal impression

from a jigsaw past


it has only flowered once

in seven years…

seven years

like stones falling in time’s fountain

wishes for more than one bloom

never granted


Indeed its partner out the front

did flower this year

a corsage pinned to the edge

of a green umbrella

one blazing bloom

a screaming beacon

of flaming orange petals


on the path I step over its corpse

now a remnant of dehydrated colour



and sometimes you’re trained to look no further

than your own backyard

in which lies

a gravestone memory

beneath a damn poinsettia tree

that has only bloomed once in seven years

and wonder…can I wait

another seven years

to glimpse the tinge

of a newly formed


promising change


3 thoughts on “Backyard Fence

  1. What I love it to come across a poem of depth, one that you can enjoy on the surface (yes I would wait 7 years, I’ve never seen a tree), but I wonder would I wait for whatever else is troubling you?

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