Asleep with Flowers and TV

Beneath you is the swollen city,

markets and the plenaries of feral cats,

their siestas under siege from cops

with eyeshades up and windows down

tooling around in old Buicks.

There’s a whiff of stock footage about

it – sex on the breath of my first lover

from the interior. After light rain,

elms take a stand in a foreign park.

They spread their arms, raise lantern

blossom against purple incoming.

The years have issued a new print

of our one film, which I watch daily,

never mind the slow wow you suffer

in playback, tailback, fanning out.