I saw my best friend's former girlfriend early yesterday
Scurrying to class along the sidewalk in the sun.
I smiled and said, "How sweet. You've got flowers in your hair."
Her eyes grew wide with worry as she stopped and said, "I do?"
She reached self-consciously into the curls behind her head.
"Is the flower pink?" she questioned, and I nodded, yes, it was.
"Could you take it out?" she asked. I wondered why but still complied;
Picked out the tiny pink and sticky blossom and I asked,
"What kind of flower is it?" as I held it in the light.
"It's a tobacco flower," she answered. "I work with them in the biology lab. But
          actually I'm not supposed to bring them out of the greenhouse, since they're
          genetically engineered and therefore considered a biohazard."

When she'd skipped off to class I stayed and stared
At the tiny flower lying in my hand.
I couldn't help but think, "How like a girl!"
So sweet and pink and pretty to behold
That we don't even think to be on guard,
When on the inside, dangerously addictive,
And possibly a hazard to mankind.
That night, with my own love, in moonlit glow,
My clumsy hand caressing silken hair,
I think I feel tobacco flowers there,
Yet find myself unable to let go.
The powers at work perhaps I'll never know,
But, happily addicted, who could care?

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