EmpathicWriter
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Queen's Pink

9/22/2012

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Picture
Friday evening
droops
from a week's herculean effort.
Workers freed by 5 o'clock
don't looked gladdened.
Trudge. Grudge.
Dangling dreams of respite
mixed with city sirens,
and low-grade self-pity,
suddenly INTERRUPTED
by an outrageous SLAP
from conspiring petals
planted at a bustling corner
to uplift the weary
with beauty and hope.
The worker bee remembered her crown,
adjusted it, while deciding:

"Well, if they can keep their splendor

 in rushing fumes and angry horns,
so can I."
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