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Orchid Dust

It slipped to the bricks,

A flight

From a window

Open at

Midnight,

The orchid, given to

Polish the feelings

Rasped by an unpolished man.

A tick of the finger nail 

A click on clay pot 

Sent it to its two storied 

Demise

Swept up with no trace

By the dawn patrol

Of street cleaners with brooms

Swept into dustbins 

Or maybe even rescued 

With no clue to it’s retinue 

Of accommodating women

Silenced with a wink, a gift, 

A threat that cooperation 

Was much more prized than their worth

So its satisfying crash

Echoed in brick alleys

Soothed more than the trinkets  

Bestowed as gags.  

The beautiful orchid 

More cherished dead 

Now, than it was alive.