(04 October 1943 / Germany)

A Windowcactus

A cactus, lonely in his pot
up on the sunny windowsill,
they watered him but he was not
a happy guy. Without the thrill
of a relationship of sorts
he suffered silently and cried,
across the street species cohorts
were having fun most every night.

They had petunias, even roses
and multicoloured foreign flowers,
right next to them, (and shared small hoses,
exchanging fluids at all hours) .

He lived like that, always observing,
for thirty years, then he keeled over.
His life had been, let's say unnerving,
he died, made room for a small clover.

They called him QUADRO for some reason,
(I think he might have had four schlongs) ,
and in the Spring, the silly season
he used to sing such lovely songs.

The lonely cactus, long forgotten,
the clover thrived, it was a he.
It shows that luck sometimes is rotten.
The French would lecture 'C'est la vie'.

by Herbert Nehrlich

Comments (3)

some good poetic techniques here Herbert. Well done.
Interesting topic. I can't grow a houseplant to save my life but that's another topic...This poem was funny. I have never given any thought about plants being lonely. I love when people spotlight things that are seen everyday yet not noticed. This does that. Very nice. Sincerely, Mary
A NEW ANGLE ON THE LIFE OF A CACTUS HERBERT, ABOUT THE ONLY THING I KNOW ABOUT THEM IS LIKE US THEY DO HAVE PRICKS BUT I WONT GO INTO THAT, YOUR TURNING OUT STUFF DIFFERENT AND YOU APPEAR TO BE ON A WRITING BENDER, AND ALL DIFFERENT Warm regards allan