Growth Customs

There is a laboratory
on a peacock island
too small for merchant ships
or flowers like dung weasels
too blocked in fortitude to sing
father tulip’s praises
and scratch their backs in panic

There is a laboratory of growth customs
that will certainly see a decline
a decline in Sunday walks
in patronage first, salutatory weddings second
too small for frightened trains
and the mildew of forged memories