THE CHELSEA FLOWER SHOW 2025
Men in flowered suits jostled for room to display their petals
Among women in their gilts and brightly coloured plumage.
Piers Morgan, dogless, was on his way to the dog garden as if to find a dog,
And Prue Leith was not cooking today, but might have roasted later
Beneath the fledgling sun as the hours stoked its lazy blaze
Over the quiver trees on Press Day.
Claire Austin and Adam Frost were circled by press,
Their passage impeded by their known faces,
The long-lens camera carriers tripping over each other
As celebrities multiplied among the many hundreds of thousands
Of nerines, peonies, irises, roses, lilies
And waxy-looking African flowers. I thought of marzipan and fondant
And wanted to reach out and eat whole blossoms
From the blanket-mass of clematis blooms, the protea mountain
With internal fountain, and the fuscia hangings
Of pink and purple danglings. My plant-lover’s joy at this floral heaven
Before the King and Queen’s arrival and despite missing Joanna Lumley,
Had been polished with all the anticipation of a forty-year wait
And I wanted to celebrate,
But the champagne bar did not open till seven.
