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  • I bought an orchid the other day
    in a distant part of this island,
    bought it for its exquisite charm;
    took the subway -- though, by mistake,
    in the wrong direction,

    I was surrounded by crowds
    casting skeptical glances
    at the delicate calyces,
    which seemed to shrink in despair,
    less certain than an animal
    about the quality of life
    at the final destination.

    I switched trains in Brooklyn,
    a positive move!
    A man stood up so the plant
    could ride on his seat. “Good luck,”
    he said with a friendly sneer.

    Arrived at my place on the Upper West,
    the plant sat for a day,
    considered its options, then withered,
    dropped flowers and buds like worn-out shoes,
    shedding leaf after leaf after leaf.
    Stood naked for a week or two,
    then dissolved into sheer dust.

    Such
    was the miserable fate
    of my favorite plant crossing Manhattan.
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