3. Archi_Teuthis

Jimmy was a bonsai tree.
His place was in the window.

His arms budded in Rococo broccoli,
His face was cracked like toasted tiles.
He rustled his fingers in the breeze
From Sharper Image towers.

He stood his ground in packaged peat
And tendered his tendrils over aquarium stones,
Once property of a pensive fish
Who set his gape in golden vogue
On viewing Heaven’s porcelain gates.

Petitely perfect in a tailored tub,
The shrub with cherry hearts circletting her wrists
Sent scented wishes Jimmy’s way.
Gentleman Jimmy, sent aflitter in the doorway’s breath,
Set himself for the subtle stretch
Of all males submitted to love.

Jimmy packed his throat with sunlight,
He saturated his cellulose mind.
Brought his arm nearer around her neck.

Too bad Jimmy was a bonsai tree,
And grew at a pitiful speed.

Jimmy, his mind wired to bonsai-time,
Saw his arm extend in easily-exhaustible speed.
His time passed in sparks of days,
In strikes of clocks
Like the drone of bees:
His brain pinioned itself to the shrub’s sweet face.

The she-shrub signaled distress
At the bonsai’s apparent antipathy.
Even as Jimmy demonstrated his devotion,
The shrub’s thoughts turned to other things.
She saw no objection, had no regrets,
When she was lifted -
Was taken away -
For a Valentine’s gift.

In the blink of a week, Jimmy grasped that she was gone.
The effect was,
Of course,

His robust blush paled.
His stucco scales flaked.
His roots cracked like peeling leather
And his leaves fell like curls of wax.

He was supposed to be dead
And was disposed of behind the house.
A golden boy bored with bothering cats
Experimented with matches
By setting fire to the bonsai’s dry patch.
Jimmy succumbed to the lightning warmth
As his heart melted into smoke.
The remains of Jimmy reposed
In a deplorable smudge.

Jimmy was a bonsai tree.
His place was in the compost lump.

Until his ashes were stricken
By height
And Ziploc freshness.
His consciousness was scattered,
Trowelled under
And left to contemplate
The scent of soil
From underneath.

The cherry-hearted shrubbery shivered,
but only from the bedroom breeze.
Surely not from the climax embrace
Of the lover underneath.

Jimmy was a bonsai tree.
He’d finally found his place.

The End

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