He brought me a flower like the Andalusian girls used all the way from Fort Riley through the capital city to Quincy Magoo’s and I set his flower on the table in between us and I did not wear his flower in my hair
as I was not a flower of the mountain, wearing red
and I was a cornfed kid from Lucerne in a hayseed sweater and Levi’s jeans
and I left his wilted flower on the table at the bar and when he asked me in the morning over hashbrowns and chicory coffee if I’d remembered to bring his flower home I should have told him
yes I did yes with my mind racing mad
and I pressed it between the pages of Portrait Of An Artist but instead I smiled and changed the subject because
I didn’t know a thing about Andalusians back then.
***
Christine (chooser of this week’s theme) and Annie take on Flower In My Hair.
