Past your prim and upright prime,
I’m shocked to see you show
your splayed-out petal-tongues,
your black-edged butter-yellow throats
and sticky pistils, purple stamens
velvet thick with pollen all displayed
so shame-shame-shamelessly
to sun, wind, sky—you, out there
in broad daylight, lined up
on the highway median strip
or staggered in the flagpole square
outside the county courthouse,
you, red tulips, doing every blessèd thing
they ever taught us not to do.