Flower Girl

She flits along the quiet streets

Her tattered dress a flutter

Talking to a man

that none

had ever seen before.

A suitcase rolls behind her,

Leaving us a

breadcrumb trail.

The broken zipper

brings us gifts

of socks and

scarves galore.

She turns to scream out

to the wind,

“Don’t follow me so closely!”

In her hand a

broken jar

—to jag the horrid

gale—

I watched her stop to borrow all

My front yard

gladiolus

Then she tore off barefoot down the street,

Assailant invisible to me.

I hope she liked the flowers.