Jesus said There’s a story

that I cursed a fig tree, Ficus carica. 
I will say I understand people who hate 

how loosely rooted are the petals of the peony, 
Paeonia lactiflora, Paeonia suffructicosa, in its brackets. 

One morning you cut the stem and carry it wet
from the garden, thinking “the lightest possible pink”
(and also, you being you, trying not to think “flecks of red, 
menstrual, tubercular, Keats’s
handkerchief”). Next afternoon 

you notice the petals have gone
slightly crepey, more than one
brown or spotted. 

The third day you’ll be on your knees
sweeping up the shattered head. 

In the news report about opposition to a local hospice
the NIMBY lady asked, “How can I be happy, 
while that’s across the street?” 

An excellent question, homo erectus, homo sapiens, 
homo curiosum. Another is, 

on the cheek, on the chest, 
on her shoulder or in his lymph, what role
can a brown spot, a purple spot, play
in delight?
                       No, really,
what? Answer me. 

Patrick Donnelly | Jesus said A program 
Contents | Mudlark No. 61 (2016)