Unseen Petal

The steam comes up, a blurry sheet,

and softens the hard lines,

the cheap plastic, a floral repeat.

I watch the hot water run and decline.

One petal, always, on the third row down,

is skewed just so, a slight detour.

It doesn't quite match the rest of the town

of printed flowers, flat and demure.

It reaches, almost, for something else,

a different air, a break from the mold.

Like it's trying to shout, or ring bells,

but the pattern keeps it held, bought, and sold.