nonchalantly uprooting pink petunias
why, i came after him, shovel in hand
shouting who the hell are
and what would you with my annuals
“ma'am, we come every year,”
like some james dean actor-y type
wearing those clean-cut pinstripe suits
“before october. bring 'em back around
march or so. yes, remember?”
admittedly something seemed familiar
but there could be no protest:
that sleaze nabbed three dozen poppies, too
took off on foot,
me following, waving dish towel
yelling “bastard!”
until all our neighbors stared
obviously not knowing
how much of a bitch
autumn was.
---
Comment away, but the revised version will come much later, if ever: this is for Jabber's contest, which required exactly 100 words and absolutely no repetition of any word (including contractions), which is why it probably seems kind of stilted in places. In addition, it's probably not as clever as I think it is, which never works in my favor.
