Roses seem to review our days
In every kind of attention as if
They feel we really need their
Help as we fry ourselves up,
Demote and denigrate ourselves
Then fall into our blistering hot
Non stick frying pans to let glum
Regret and grotesque imagination
Nail us even more gruesomely
To the wall of wasted worries!
Then cook ourselves up in every
Kind of recipe that roars with
Resignation, ransom notes from
The unforgiving soul that steeps
Us in its tea kettle of tormented
Tampered tottering traumas!
Roses then bring us round to
A new way of dealing with this
Ghastly kitchen of mortification
That not even Gordon Ramsey
Wants to have to deal with!
So then the rose reminds us
To do nothing and just sit down
In the centre of ourselves, where
The querulous, queer kitchen’s
Gordon Ramsey presides to bring
Us back where the borders of
Solitude have always been and
Will take us in with no charge!