Farmer farmer
I see you there.
You plucked my mother and father from the ground
And set their amputated remains in a vase.
You filled it with water and handed it to your wife.
She received your gift with blushing cheeks
And a hand over her mouth.
She sniffed the bouquet and smiled.
She caressed my mother’s petals with her fingers, and kissed you on the lips.
Farmer, farmer,
I am green.
Like envy, greed, and jealousy.
I am vengeful, and spit my seeds into the air.
I am nectar.
I am bees.
I am the vengeful sting of irony.
Run.
Here they come!
Hives will cover your skin, and your lungs will close up.
Your pretty little wife will run from the house,
Dropping the vase…
Spreading my parents remains all over the place.
You grab your throat as they sting your skin.
She runs from the house, and over to the garden.
“Hold on!” she screams, grabbing hold of your welted flesh.
You look up with eyes of fear and pain.
The bees swarm around me.
I am the master.
The executioner…
I am the Green Gerber Daisy.
