Valentine’s day
Pre-planned passion
hangs in the balance
Suspense
reigns
He lopes home
hugging a rain-drenched
bouquet to his frame, hunching
keep rain from staining petals, hoping
the beauty, the ruby hue, the perfume
of these hot-house blooms will halt
the drift. He’s humming a tune.
He walks in, singing
Roses are red
my love
He presents the spray
She feigns cat-lick surprise, yet
her greedy eyes betray
dismay
disdain
the end of the line.
Cheapskate flowers again;
hints for a cruise, or at least
a long weekend in Spain
were in vain.
©Jane Paterson Basil
