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Killing the Azalea

I noticed it wasn’t doing well,
had spent weeks moving it from
one room to another replenishing
water in the saucer as I had for
my late cat.

It wasn’t an unwelcome gift
and faced with the choice between
the living and the dead, in the flower shop
I opted for the former: the white blossom
against vivid green; it looked like a survivor.
I felt I must remain hopeful for your sake too.

A day of forgetting and blossoms shrivelled.
I felt depressed, resumed my regime
and was elated when new shoots arrived.
I owed it something for remaining.

Then things happened; I kept walking past it.
Other things happened; Why was it important after all?
It became less a plant and more an installation.
Removing it eventually to the bin,
the saucer watched me.
Apparently it isn’t difficult to kill an Azalea
though the saucer still watches me.

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