The Periwinkle

I found you one noon,
Just behind the septic tank
Your roots wedged
Into a crack
at the confluence of
Two corroded pipes
Carrying rivulets of
mineral rich shit
From the toilets of men
Who distinguish themselves
By walls and caste and religion.

You winked at me, all pretty in your pink,
“I couldn’t tell whose is which,
Shit’s just shit”.

“But, but”, I stammer,
“Why did you choose
This bit of real estate to grow in?”

“I didn’t choose, that shit happens”, you shrug,
“It’s what I do with it, that’s really important”.

I bow to the Alchemist.

One thought on “The Periwinkle

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