The pretty girls gather

around

cameras

and small

dogs;

fat-faced babies and

graceful

grandpas.

I’ve seen them crowd

around

crudites.

I’ve seen them dance

with only themselves -

the whirling wonder

of it all.

All the pretty girls

dream

in color

and plot

their days

by those breeze blown

banners that

sag

and then

snap

in the space

behind

their eyes.

All the pretty girls,

like

all the bright-burning flowers,

slowly, slightly

turning

toward

death.

Joe Nolan <3