by David Weber Schloss

I laid my head on an orchid field
at the feet of the yellow King
and begged him to kiss my children
to sleep
But when he opened my veins
he recoiled
at the scent of aluminum
and bleach
dragged his yellow hands
through his yellow hair
and grew a poppy root there, instead
Bury me here then, brother
Watch my crawl
into sickly sweet Elysium
and guard my children from my veins
lest they tumble as children tumble
part cloth, part legs
into the open ground