My north-exposed begonia the first frost
got to, spunky in its porcelain pot
splays out like spokes of an umbrella
the pure giving up. It took me months
to like that plant, thriving
leaf-clumps pressed as lips press against
glass, towering above the huge green zoo
of Peperomia like the moony monster
eating Tokyo. That one: recalcitrant
on the sill. That one: its proud
explosions intruded like a hat in an audience.
I ripped the stems out whole, popping, oozing
syrup. They floated in the pie-tin above
the toilet like lilies on a tiny silver lake.
Thinking now of the guy who kidded me
for days, picked up and left me cold.
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