In the aftermath of Valentine’s Day,
Gary walked up, wringing his hands,
his breath fogging the air
outside on the balcony.
“Um, so you got a huge haul the other day?”
I said, “It wasn’t like I really
wanted any of it. Last year,
all I got was one rose petal.
I found that one on the floor.
I put it in one of my notebooks,
and it left a red imprint on the page
when it fell off.”
(I didn’t know why I told him that.)
Gary kicked a rock off the balcony.
“You know that one pink rose?”