Deep pink ones pop like over-inflated balloons
all over my front yard, as they do everywhere

these days of floral abundance springing into action.
I did not plant each geranium—my next-door

garden goddess did from sprigs of her own plants—
though the newbies struggled through summer’s heat.

We both watered them extra, and flowers did emerge,
a bit limp and wan. Still, I applauded their fortitude.

Now the gerania arranged in a row near the sidewalk
toss come-hither glances over their blossoming

shoulders, which entice more than just the
four-footed passersby to stop, bend and fawn

over them—especially the four-year-old who
sniffed a large bundle and, to her smiling mama,

hollered “Yummy!” throwing her arms
to the sky at such a profusion of loveliness.

•••

(for Christine Cross, with my thanks)