In This Economy
By Brenda Shaughnessy
The economical ikebana
of the lesser octopus
is disarming,
a sextopus, holding
its intelligence
& ink
in a concentrate.
Not some sloppy octopus
who suddenly
freaks, so princessy, rich.
Driven to abstraction
not unlike flowers
dropping their petals
because petals are garbage
off the bloom,
not expensive anymore
thus going inside
to find meaning.
Cut the eyes, then, from
the cruel ikebana
of the racehorse—
if a leg breaks she can’t
bear her own
weight,
long-blossomed head
turns to glue
and the fortune
zooms off like flies
from a carcass
when shooed.
The tripod fell
so I had to cast about
for my crutch
to walk over—my bad
left knee buckling—
to right it.
I want to take a picture
of the flowers
I arranged
after an ikebana class,
just one. I quit
quickly
but still hope to learn
to arrange beauty
classically.
Maybe I’m lazy, or
don’t apply the rules
to myself,
or maybe “laze” is just
“zeal” rearranged,
as in my case.
Even now, the clock
we need to punch
out on is too far
away to plug in,
so power collects
in its hands.
