Caged Flowers

A small flower garden
in a window
in Venice.
It could be anywhere.

Up out of reach,
on the third floor,
caged with cast iron
assuring no one will pick the flowers.

Limiting even, the view.

You walk by with only a glance.
There are wildflowers in the sidewalk,
less extravagant, but more accessible,
and far more beautiful.

It could be anywhere.

About this poem

About possessiveness. About jealousy. About gardens. About relationships gone bad. Poetry is rarely about one thing.

The picture was actually taken in Rome. I just like Venice better, so it got the nod in the poem.

Tom