Contemplation



Let’s go Alice, let’s jump into Ron’s garden filled with the
bouquet of silica and sand melted and colored for us
roses of flat, imperfect glass
in pop art arrangement
of the profound tic tac toe of the choices of life.
An overwhelming smell of green cubes of jelly glass.

If you stoop, and gaze through, your world is there.
Through the looking glass. Box upon box, rose upon rose,
lens upon lens…reality upon reality.

In the top row are the roses of happiness. Puppies freshly
brought home to chase toilet rolls into shreds of naughtiness.
Champagne bubbles up your nose. Flowers on Valentine’s day.
The urgent kisses of a new love on an unfamiliar doorstep.
This is where the rose of unexpected pay rises and ice-creams
that drip down your chin in the summer live. The smell of a baby’s head,
the feel of good food on your senses, wine in a warm sunset.

The second row is the row of roses of despair. Break-ups for
shattered hearts. Pink slips at Christmas. Fatalistic diagnoses in
dark corners of a doctor’s consulting room. Gums that bleed and turn
out to be something serious after all. Dogs that die in hot cars.
Last wishes that are a litany of regrets and missed opportunities.
A T-bone at a jumped red traffic light. A spill on a speeding motorbike.

The third row is the worst row of all. Row three is the gathering of the roses
of the illusion of choice and the blooms of excuses. A flower of party party
party or study hard while your mind is young and fertile. A bud ready for breaking
of fitness and ready horizons where you can step into success with shiny skin
and bright eyes to become….someone. Someone who looks into their
morning mirror and smiles, who sings in the shower with a voice that
carries a bouncing spirit of vitality, who pats the backs of strangers
with genuine want-you-to-do-well bon viveur . This is a rose
that takes time to say “I love you” and who hugs their dog and because
it knows it is loved it wags its tail back in little flicks and scrunches its muzzle
into a toothy doggy smile.
This is the row from which to pick flowers and place them all in
duckling lines in the row of happiness.

Row three is for you..if you want it, if you choose it, if fate lets you have it…
and that is why it is the worst row of all.

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