matt robinson

the metallic of a geranium does not seem out of place

here, among the sedum and sport-utility vehicles.  it is

an olfactory irony, manufactured of earth and linen, all


sterilized, in bags.  here, where the chicken-wire

geometry of asphalt pens broncos and mustangs, it is

in keeping with the miracle of a sheep’s recollection


of a field, all tidy and bagged, for sale.  today there are sods

in a trunk on plastic, and that wonderful parking lot odour,

the metallic of the geranium, swirling in the reflected heat.

This poem can be found at the Fredericton Botanic Garden. 

Source:  robinson, matt.  A Ruckus of Awkward Stacking.  Insomniac Press, 2001.