It was a small gesture of friendship

in which she decided to put into a clear shot glass

that was once filled to the brim, slightly on edge,

with the taste of Old Balvenie and which now

housed two small remnants of pavement grown

flowers, one opened and with its petals drooping

as it reflects the sunlight;

the other closed, frightened, lost and alone

as it remembers what it was to be a wall flower.

 

The taste of ozone hits the Waterloo and Crosby air

and the flowers take different paths,