Autobiography no. 17

The day she told him I existed,
while I was working
he showed up on her doorstep
with two cards from a drugstore
inside of two envelopes.

He gave her a keychain
and a figurine of a classic film villain
and a bouquet of roses and there were
one dozen white roses and one dozen red roses
and two dozen pink roses
and he brought her a clear glass vase
for all of them to live in.

She put her keys on the keychain
and the figurine next to her toothpaste
and I moved the flowers into the vase
already on her windowsill.

The petals opened slowly
and I kissed her every morning as the sun rose.
I changed the water
until the leaves and petals all had withered.

After a few days the leaves curled in upon themselves
And they fell and drifted listlessly in the mouth of the vase.
Soon four dozen dreams bloomed, desolate
with the dull brown tinge of decay,
and when the very last bulb opened up
I threw the flowers away.