A Gardener Betrayed by Roses

By Benjamin Rosenbaum

He'd come to water them.
They were ashamed of him --
his weak white hands, his stoop.
They pulled him down.
He fought back, weeping: "I have brought you
water, defended you from aphids."

He's hiding in the house now, bloody.
They wait for rain.

This is how roses are:
they dream of strength.
There is no mercy in them.

Roses want to eat the ivy,
fill the oaks with blood.
They want kisses and hatred,
chocolate and vengeance;

like teenage girls who dream of suicide,
of anything that would end the world,
instead of having to be beautiful tomorrow.

 

Copyright © 2001 Benjamin Rosenbaum

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Benjamin Rosenbaum lives in Basel, Switzerland, with his wife and baby daughter, where in addition to scribbling fiction and poetry, he programs in Java (well) and plays rugby (badly). A story of his appeared in the January 31 issue of Writer Online, and another will appear in the July issue of Fantasy & Science Fiction. This is his first published poem. Visit his Web site to learn more about his writing.