In Back of the Real
railroad yard in San Jose
I wandered desolate
in front of a tank
factory
and sat on a bench
near the switchman's
shack.
A flower lay on the
hay on
the asphalt highway
--the dread hay flower
I thought--It had a
brittle black stem
and
corolla of yellowish dirty
spikes like Jesus'
inchlong
crown, and a soiled
dry center cotton
tuft
like a used shaving brush
that's been lying
under
the garage for a year.
Yellow, yellow flower,
and
flower of industry,
tough spiky ugly
flower,
flower nonetheless,
with the form of
the great yellow
Rose in your brain!
This is the flower
of the World.
