Six Apologies to William Blake

Ah, sunflower, weary of time,

I prefer your name in French,

Le tournesol. It so perfectly

Matches what you are,

You could almost be a verb.

Je tournesol matin et soir…

                  ***

Ah, sunflower, weary of time,

It’s a little creepy, honestly,

To watch you turn east,

Then west, like a living watch

Worn on a living wrist,

So the sun can tell the Time.

                  ***

Ah, sunflower, weary of time,

I see that your crown

Is not of petals, but flowers

That resemble petals,

The way a logarithm

Has a number above its head.

***

Ah, sunflower, weary of time,

You are, in my experience,

Like Mickey Mouse pointing

At me instead of nine and two,

And squeaking, Time’s up!

You innocent fool, you.

                  ***

Ah, sunflower, weary of time,

Don’t you get a little bored,

Studying the line of the horizon

From dawn to dusk, looking for,

If not an answer, another way

To frame the question?

                  ***

Ah, sunflower, weary of time,

And the margins of the field,

And the highway passing through,

And farmhouses’ broken windows,

And the hissing of the snake,

The locust, and the mole…

Bill Rector writes: “I am a retired physician. I have published one full volume of poetry, through Proem Press. I have also recently had four recent chapbooks appear, from Epiphany magazine, Unsolicited Press, Polific Press, and White Knuckle Press. I spent a good part of my life in Denver but now reside in the Low Country of South Carolina.”