Pope Francis asks for our prayers.

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Men offered her dead presidents....

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SCISSOR DANCE

By Joan Reese

Jukebox rocks, two dozen hardworking dusty men,

Bent elbows lean, Gold liquid flows

Glass rises, lit cigarettes talk.

She poses on a white piano bar,

scantily clad; slow moving, bending,

grinding, shaking, gyrating.

She blows kisses

to admiring eyes

with lustful wishes. 

Cleo's little girl dream

of being rescued

fades with each midnight hour.

She spins around, steelscissors held high.

Scissors reflect mirrored walls;

penetrates smoky beer air.

The scissor flashes down

cutting a hole above her heart.

Cleo offers the red satin circle,

Keepsake for the trucker who watches.

He believes, "She dances for me."

He offers up a dead President.

She cuts a hole here

cuts a hole there.

Soon she can start her own government.

It's hard to know where

first hole began or

last hole ends.

"The 'Amen!' of Nature is always a flower."

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"What a desolate place would be a world without a flower!  It would be a face without a smile, a feast without a welcome.  Are not flowers the stars of the earth, and are not our starts the flowers of the heaven."

-  A.J. Balfour