STANDING IN OLEANDER

    by Dick Bakken     

Don’t glance to my face on this glass 
when sudden whines, my petal taps 
startle you ablaze. Sob shock away 
wrapped round tight in those covers,
as a bud in the arms of your brother. 
Don’t glance to my face on this glass. 

Don’t glance to my face on this glass 
open palms pressed, a gnarled mask,
whimpered bleats out of broken teeth.
With widening eyes, you are chosen 
to cry out while moonlit, to blossom.  
Don’t glance to my face on this glass. 

Don’t glance to my face on this glass. 
An uptwist of heart seeks only chance,
a hidden glimpse, risen nightly to limp 
into opening flora beside your room.   
Brother’s shotgun O! gives us bloom. 
Don’t glance to my face on this glass.