Some Flowers
Why do we call
some flowers
weeds
just because they
bloom
happily
by the roadside
without being asked
and try with their
polite yellow smiles
to ease the
concrete
eyesore
we like to call
progress
Because
Because I’m a hopeless romantic
I came to love’s door
at sunset
with a blooming bouquet of demands
and candy-coated expectations
air-tight
(to keep my ripened heart from rotting in the sun)
but I knew she
wasn’t impressed
by my gallant stab at chivalry
when she opened the door
wearing one of those looks
that says,
“maybe you should have brought roses”
