Black Beauty

14 lines 4 the beautyful 1s

Within the bluest eye of the beholder,

How I wonder up, above a star so high,

About an older twinkling, drinking gourd

Skies over the marvelous, great grandgravel:

Why is this soil bad for certain kinds of flowers?

Having made sweet outta being brutalist built,

Potted-snipped, replanted-plucked.

Your type of pretty’ll be whacked— the sun- nectar center — sucked.

‘So no more grow, y’know?’

The ‘weeds:’ little brown fingers,

Flower stems, dark

Dandelions splay splendacious ends.

My Petal, thou wilt

Never, ever bend.

-

All Rights Served.

Kira Mungai, 2023.