The Apple Doesn't . . .

He bloomed stranger than most,
with Jesus flowing through cool veins,
Mozart feeding magic soil,
Tennyson pouring tepid rain,
and AC/DC burning brilliant light.

“The Golden Rule,” he would say,
ripping off his shirt,
showing tats of Jesus,
Marilyn Monroe,
Bob Marley, and a
funky five leaf clover he liked to smoke.

He helped the old lady with a flat,
took his mother dinner,
picked up a too drunk friend and
saved his odd daughter.

Daddy bloomed roses.

Me?

I’m a crazy tattooed rose taking that bloomer dinner.