Meditation On Happiness
I want to go through life
with the joy of a bus driver
riding through town in twilight,
catching all the green lights,
smiling softly as he hums along
to the radio and drives right by
all the bus stops, his display
glowing a single gleeful
orange word: GARAGE.
For The Woman Selling Roses On Miami Gardens Drive
I always see her on my drive home
at the light for the onramp to I-95,
one hand raised in the air, the petals
of her fingers spread out to show the price,
while the other hand holds
a bucket of roses to her chest, as if they bloomed
from her own body. And they are always
five dollars. On Monday, on Friday,
on the weekend, on Mother's Day, five dollars.
Always one hand fanned in the air,
always the roses clutched close to her heart,
holding them the way a red light holds traffic,
as though she doesn’t want to part with them
but knows that she must, knows that she carries
happiness or forgiveness for someone
she will never meet. Even on Valentine's Day,
when she could have charged more
to those fools who waited until the last minute.
Still only five dollars. Still one hand
open in the air, as if in order for her to raise the price,
she would have to put the roses down.
Ariel Francisco is Miami poet currently completing his MFA at Florida International University. He is also a former Poet in Decadence at Gramps Bar in Wynwood. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Jai-Alai Magazine, Portland Review, Print-Oriented Bastards, Sliver of Stone, Tupelo Quarterly, Washington Square Review, and elsewhere.