Flower Shop

(inspired by CNY shopping with my mom)

Wordlessly, I watched the reincarnations,
Gobbling plastic, dismal specters of
A once glorious past.

I knew their ancestors, pretty worshipers
of the sun, of whom their children turn
Pagan. Their faith-

Withering in the abashed shadows,
Stiff bodies swaying infrequently to the
Blaring music.

'Come!’ the Keeper beckoned,
Gold teeth playing hide and seek on
Rugged contours. ‘Come.’

Listen to them, Sing with throats
Of Perspex and PVC, limbs that flail like
Crepe, hang loose

‘You want?’ reproductive organs with
No sense of shame. Clothes wrenched open,
exposing crude Reproduction. Man-

Made. To measure, dress ‘colour? Use
Dye.’ Cheap iridescence. They,
Mock my low taste-

Challenging me to bring them home
For spring. Seasons they have forgone
since. I laughed-

stepping out into the sun to relish my triumph-
They cower, synthetic faces shamed by memory,
as I scratched the itch under my wig.