Crepe myrtles burst into bloom—
In vivid red and purple, sunset pink,
And splashes of white.
They dominate the landscape.
Our Southern aunts instructed us
That it is rude, unladylike,
To put ourselves forward
With such dramatic flair.
We should, instead,
Seek to be accommodating, pleasant,
To fade into the background.
What rebellious streak,
Hidden even from themselves,
Led these proper matrons to supervise
The planting of crepe myrtles
That line our quiet streets
And clamor boisterously for our attention?