The cactus flower blooms once a year,

And then withers in only a night

When there is no one around

To give witness to its passing.

In this suburb, yards either hold

Pebbles dumped by the ton in space

That did not need the gross intrusion,

Or grass and sprinklers and the

Wasteful act of preserving pretension.

The cactus will live for decades

In this suburb I now leave behind me.

I am not sure I know how to miss it.