shot glass
Issue # 7 May 2012
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Bill Shelton


Flowers at a Biker Bar

Freshly planted in box beds just below
the line of tailpipes, these shrinking violets,
purple and white, are already tinged
tobacco–brown. The owner tells us his wife
put them there—why, he doesn't know.
All I know is to watch them shimmy
like go–go dancers, their tiny necks
exhausted. I've tripped on them twice, the way
I trip on the obvious–that we will shrivel
back to dust, and if we're lucky, flowers
will dance on our graves. I think this
as a leather fist twists the throttle and a black boot
kicks the world back into its favorite gear.