Smiles,
Snaps his finger,
Moves on.
It could be bad,
it could be massacre,
but he moves on, upon
his garden without shoes on,
without a bulldozer, no massacre.
A garden of roses
and peonies waiting
in full bloom to be pluck
for someone in between
making cups of themselves
filled with nectar for sherbet,
so fragrant so charming, so darling in waiting.
