Emboldened by age, Signor Pipoli
Took to buying flowers for beautiful women
And men. He presented these strangers,
These creatures with bunches of yellow roses,
Daffodils, crocuses, or trembling single stems—
An iris to the young redhead on the train,
A tulip to the one in the café, always reading
A calculus text. The florists could spot him
from across the street, loping along the sunny walk,
cigarette trapped between his coffee-coloured fingers,
Like branches bearing white and smoky blossoms.
As always so beautiful. With your words, I always feel like I am right there.
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