A series of (failed) epigrams.

We went to get roses

to drop on their doorstep.

And the woman

(in the flower shop)

asked if I wanted them de-thorned.

But I quietly said, “No.”

Because I wanted them to prick you.

_____________________________________________________

Our kitchen was wrapped in orange and heavily perfumed with tomato sauce.

The news was scratching

from a five-inch-black-and-white-plug-it-in-antennae-adjusting TV.

A local boy was dead, it said.

And your pasta is burning.

___________________________________________________

When her father died

the world smelled like band-aids

Thick ones and heavy gauze

His casket was open

and he looked like sheets of plastic

When I saw him

I forgot

that I cared.

~ by carik on October 31, 2008.