Tomato Tulips

I like to picture you in a torn-up kimono
Dehydrated flowers in your new blue hair
The toothpick belt we made on Gluten-Free day
is cinched high around your 19th-century waist
You linger now near the rifle rack, spinning tops
on our GE Wildcat, solid state stereo

Stub your toe on a Paris curb, blood kisses fly
Punch your face while sleeping, blood kisses fly
Water the garden no underpants, blood kisses fly

Tulips have grown together with your tomatoes
since the deviant craft fair of September 2008
They came from the fertilizer shotgun syringe
my entry into the Projectile Weapons category
after Slay Gorgon’s impregnation attempt of Sally
went south, covering your tomatoes with seed shot

I often picture the petals curling under their weight
The fairies danced bare-knuckled, high on torchlight
You brought them forth as a chuckle for the kids
You spun tops, made from Mryia Jackalope’s heart

The fairies, born to follow, stamped and collided
Enthralled by your heady music and promises of a feast
their jolly leaps, grand l’aire to a jete´, turned violent
toes were stubbed, faces punched, blood kisses flew

We hoed their lithe bodies into the newly turned soil
standing adjacent to the long rows of tomato tulips
You threw pigeon wings to Walter the White rabbit
Slay and Sally bowed and excused themselves, dedans

K. Shawn Edgar | Writer | Humorist | 45×17 Fixed

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