Lovers beware of flowers
which fester in garage forecourts;
they are not for courting.
For what lover wants pound shop peonies,
dahlias of desperation, morose roses of regret,
chrysanthemums of crushed dreams,
tumorous tulips, carnations of tarnation,
and you-forgot-me forget-me-knots?
These cellophaned bunches of sadness,
blundered bundles of floral unthoughtfulness,
do not make feelings blossom, love bloom,
the heart burst, but lead merely to the
wilting of romance.
Frankly, you’re better off getting
a tube of Sour Cream and Chive Pringles
and a motoring atlas.