Please don't squeeze the daffodil

Please don't squeeze the daffodil that's sitting on my window sill. It's yellow has more time to give before it browns like scorched sun burns. it's petals have lasting mantel turns to point with hope at lazing brows of sleeping grass and mellow hills where shadows cast a tonal turn as cooled by drafts from summer's breeze.

fantasy ATM

The digital screen reads 'Insert card'.
So I do
and punch in my pin
to access my account.
How many friends do you require?
it asks and lists a series of figures
bullet pointed by arrows in line
with stainless steal buttons
on the side of the panel.
I select one in the middle
knowing I want more
but wary of what I can afford
to keep my balance in the black.
Before it spews my modest request
from its slim jaws
into my hand for me to pocket,
it has a final question;
do you require a receipt?

window washer

Men arrive to wash the windows.
The sun is bright but will later on be brighter.
I close the curtains to maintain my privacy.
The temperature drops.
The slops of soap sponges seeps in
as they wipe away the grime.
Silence returns.
I open the curtains.
I have a clearer view through the glass
as the men depart.

blue coffee cup

A blue coffee cup sits on my desk, pale and solid. In its emptiness, its hollow white insides, there are marks of what has been but has now gone. A pattern of coffee stain like ripples of sand on the beach after the tide has departed. Like dried up rain on a dirty window which leaves streaks of unwashed darkness. Like tears of mascara on the face of a heart torn girl, she tissue dabs but the traces of her misery remain pale and solid.