Lettuce

For poetry’s sake, let us consider

iceberg lettuce a flower, much as I

considered (for poetry’s sake) college

a place where I would find value in life.

I can’t say whether or not my whole year

was good for bouquets of iceberg lettuce,

blooming in beds of bacon and mayonnaise,

just that I remember their quiet, cold heads.

Stamen, anther, filament – I clammed up

for most of the summer. It wasn’t so bad.

I missed the old provocations of rage,

moved on, and didn’t gain too much weight.

Imagine the bride is holding her lettuce

and, then, tosses it to the eager crowd.

For poetry’s sake, I really have to say

I am happy for her among the crispy petals.