Old Roses at Night
night starts and it's still light—
you wouldn't mind, would you,
if I turned on the dawn?
I watch you walk through the cemetery
in search of old roses, untainted,
original-real-thing, like roses were
maybe a hundred years ago.
Night-lights shine on your roses
as they strike a pose for the camera crew—
the dew sparkles like regular words,
it was beautiful a long time ago.
Pluck pluck pluck the flowers like they're virgin girls
(because they wanted it)
splash over a puddle of whiskey night
and let the festivities begin.