Naked orchids

Mid-August,
The orchids in the window
Of the funeral directors
Have not one bloom among them,
Just flaccid leaves, dried out stems
And silvery-grey aerial roots.
The smell of loss lingers –
Death’s hangover,
Mourning’s accomplice –
Despite the shiny leather seats
And lipsticked personnel.
The fairy lights
On the fake Christmas tree
Wink away at whoever’s passing,
Oblivious,
Like a penny arcade
Or Bank Holiday circus.

——————————————————–

© Vicky Newham 2012. All rights reserved.
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from the blog’s author is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Vicky Newham, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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About Vicky Newham

Vicky Newham is a writer, living in Whitstable, Kent. She writes crime fiction, psychological thrillers and science fiction. Her main projects are novels, but she also writes short stories, flash fiction, non-fiction articles and some poetry.
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