Nasturtiums

Even wrathful beings start out small—

in this case, like tiny, dehydrated testes,

white and wrinkled, promising

protection despite your lack

of faith. You can’t believe it

when green coins form, shallow bowls

for single rain drops. Such pools

foretell pestilence—the crystal balls

of lady bugs and praying mantises

hunkered down in wait, watching

blood red, orange and yellow

blooms unfold themselves like warm

aureoles, ladies’ fans, lips laced

with pepper—so festive, so sharp

on a salad, a human tongue, so repugnant

to aphids and flies they’ll take

their colonizing fleet elsewhere,

to your naïve neighbors’ garden,

buzzing their national anthem all the way.