Why Roses are Overrated
Well, now—if it’s not the prom queen
of flowers, all dressed up for forever love
in flashy mylar-paper wrapping,
thorns clipped harmless, fresh from the florist,
petals soft as promises and smooth
as white picket fences: beating you
with picture-perfect symbolism,
making you love it, making you believe it.
A flawless dozen offered on a snapshot night
could hang around for years, mummified
upside down or encased in a glass bubble.
How can you plan a life around a dozen roses,
around a clean pre-packaged ending?
Love is too big and messy, showing up unbidden,
spilling apple juice on your shoes, lowering
your standards, and riding its bike
through the front garden at midnight, drunk.
You want to be symbolic? You want to show me love?
Pick me fourteen dandelions. Stick them in a tinfoil hat.
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