Those Flowers Out Front

Charles Mahaffey

Sometimes I love you like I love those flowers out front.
I don’t dare go beyond the front door to observe them.
Partially due to their delicate nature & I figure
opening the door will blow them down Woodford Avenue.
And you know the neighbors, what they’d say seeing me
chase daffodils in a little pair of shorts.
Partially because there is no better frame of reference
than the view just beyond the door. Me thinking that up close
they might simply look like drawn on fruit skins. And beyond this
hiding spot I frankly wouldn’t know what to do. Breathing noisily,
I’d disturb the blue jay over on the feeder you filled just that morning.
Partially because the words I’d write up close would spit too much.
They’d try to defend themselves. The way a customer does in a Boutique store.
The way I’d have to say, ‘Sorry. I’m just admiring,’ when the budding
head rolled over in its bed and asked me what exactly it was that I was
so intently staring at.