Y: OO

OO

Roses are red,
Cut through stems at a tilt,
Like French bread sliced for the picnic the stinging rain called
off.

Violets are violet,
Stem cuts, tilt head back,
Pinch the bridge of your nose.
Bruises are black then blue then yellow and green.

Roses are red,
Eyes like donuts,
Blood vessel splodge of jam on cream.

Two giant O's
-The number of the video channel.
-The sound he made when Whirlwind White missed the black.
-The number of times the flowers came from the florist, not the
cemetary.

Posie Jane Lloyd 1967-1998
Taken from us while still in bloom.

Daisy Wood - Blossom Wood
Twins uprooted...

Jean Rose Clare 1930-2000
You may be gone, petal, but you are not forgotten.

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Tulips are split.

"Oo?that's nasty, petal, how did that happen?" was the sound he made
returning from his board meeting to find his wife having tea with blind
Doreen.
"I tripped," She lied.
"Looks like you had a floor board meeting flower, let me get you some
ice."

Roses are red.
The bread knife disappeared up to the hilt.
Violets are violent.
"Oo", the sound he made as he slumped to the floor.
"Oo" said Doreen, "everything okay? Sounds like you've spilt
something."

Ro-ses are red,
Vio-lets are blue.