I need to get a photo
of that new giant red poppy
before the wind does a job on it,
like it did to the team mate
subjected to jab, hook and cross
and uppercut throws:
its mouth mangled
its petalled symmetry shred
its posture upended
tossed, beaten and mauled-
until it really did look, even to me,
like Plath's little bloody skirts.
Copyright 2022 Cathy Leonard All rights reserved
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