Damn Flowers

How nice it would be
to wake up in the morning
and raise my face to meet
the sun.
To stretch my leaves
high,
painted face smiling
as the sun caresses my face
with tenderly waving breezes.

Flowers don’t need coffee,
a morning paper,
a properly balanced breakfast
to feel happy with their lives.

Always waking on
the right side of the bed,
all ready good to face the day.
No mascara runs,
pantie hose rips,
under wire pokes
to put them in a foul mood.

The only thing paining them
is the occasional bird poop.

Lucky damn things.