According to the Dandelions The last of the red-hot lovers is out in the moonlight looking for the lost libido his latest dearest darling tossed out her car window into the roses as she pulled away, tires squealing, gravel flying. All the dandelions out there have folded up their petals! Like wee umbrellas folded up upside-down, their handles rooted in the earth. Didn’t they used to stay open all night, like convenience stores? What if some night-owl scamp of a honeybee on his way home to the hive and the clean sheets on the bed of his fast-asleep queen should suddenly get an impossible attack of the munchies? They never used to close, the dandelions, did they? He’s almost positive they never did. Nothing is exactly the way it used to be. Everything else is much different. Her, him, the dandelions.
	—Joe Smith