I love the way this poems puts such strange and imaginative new ways of looking at things INTO blunt, plain, even cynical language. My favorite single line is (speaking of geraniums), "In the mirror their doubles back them up." Also, parts of the poem are great examples of Plath's mesmerizing ability to imitate the things she's talking about with the sounds of her words. These particular lines haunt me with their taut, just-suppressed energy and perfect evocation of the subject: "Listen: your tenant mice / Are rattling the cracker packets. Fine flour / Muffles their bird feet: they whistle for joy." Ooh, shivers.
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