Breadcrumb #164


The croton plant you give me
comes with tiny dinosaurs —
a t-rex.  A stegosaurus.  
“They make its leaves seem so much
bigger” you say, as if the whole love
in buying it was prehistoric —
this world you want to give me
that had only shown itself in quiet
trips to bone lost-and-founds.  
This control you found in
a world where none of the
creatures had deadly teeth.
We watered the plant. Admired it. 
Safe for a year before the leaves
dried back into the ground.
It’s become a tradition
for all our new plants.  Each time    
we control paradise:
We let the dinosaurs
outlive the earth again.

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