Rising from the garbage,
they are like a flower;
they smell
of life while rats eat fungus beef.
The sun shines down
on alleyways where sex is death
and diseases are exchanged with needles;
such a pretty thing,
the flower that blossoms.
Petals red like blood,
but not one shed
despite the teenager shot dead
on the corner.
The blue sky tries to swallow night,
but chokes on smog;
cigarettes, blunts, factories, car exhausts
char a city’s lungs.
Picture how incredible they are,
the plant that somehow survives
to become a thing called beautiful.
