poetry texts, poem archive at plagiarist.com

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.  

                         San Jose, 1954

Added: 25 Mar 2002 | Last Read: 7 Jun 2025 11:59 PM | Viewed: 11442 times

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