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.