The Flower Girl

She sits,
in the corner between the stairs
and the cracked-plaster walls
of a run down old building,
her back to the wrought iron rails,
selling roses to passers-by.

Young men who rush to her side
to purchase flowers 
for their giggly girlfriends;
husbands who’ve forgotten anniversaries,
trying to remedy the fact
while dashing home from work;
and well dressed men making haste
out of the wrong side of town,
picking up something to drop on a table
that will cover their guilt 
with a pretty scent.

Through the mask of wind-blown hair
she reads the stories
each one wears upon his sleeve
and drops their pocket money
into her tattered coat. 

But she hands the finest bloom of all
to the pretty young woman
who wears alone and lonely
with uncomfortable familiarity,
buying roses for herself 
to ease the emptiness.


march 2005
©Janet Reid





Awarded by Poetic Constellations




Awarded by New Horizons