touch-me-not

this flower

doesn’t belong

on the canal

hiding

in an airless tunnel

where no-one goes

before dark

rooted

to a thin layer

of dirt

head bowed

butter bloom

an open mouth

that faint smell

of sherbet

when someone

passes

it brushes

a thigh

springs back

against the wall

careful

just one touch

triggers

a scattering

of seed

into the night

 

First published in The Poetry Review