The wind is an old friend
I can always count on
to blow me a path across
a sea of radiant sunflowers.
When I stroll down the path
the stalks of the flowers
morphs into shapely legs
like the Rockettes and they do
an erotic Can-Can—thrusting
their gorgeous legs and buns of steel
to the tune of the Sheik of Araby.
I delight in my private harem
and haven’t had this much fun
since my salacious Kappa Nu
fraternity graduation party.
I fill my lungs with their scent
and relish the release of heat
they emit as chickadees tweet.
Cardinals and Monarch butterflies
perch on the heads of the dancers.
Nocturnal bats sample their nectar
when a full moon lights the way.
Sunflowers are my lucky penny
since the demand by pretty young
women for bouquets of sunflowers
at the Farmer’s Market is endless.