top of page
Search
Writer's pictureAdmin

The Tightwad

Dollar King

is probably not

the most idyllic place

to pick up flowers,

especially when they're

fake.

 

She’ll call you cheap, deride

your half-assed effort—

to find an anniversary

bouquet; clearly during the gasp

of the final minute.

 

It’s to efflorescence

what Alpha-getti is—

to a romantic, Italian

dinner—though yes,

you can arrange I Love You

in its basement-bargain

sauce, put on Pavarotti’s

Chittara Romana.

 

But there’s being

a little frugal

and then there’s

Marley & Scrooge,

your wallet unable to open,

as if it’s been krazy-

glued.

 

It’s a roll of

one-ply paper

when Cottonelle's  

a toonie more;

 

the socks with

eleven holes

within your shabby

shoes from George ;

 

it’s an expired

box of Turtles

when Laura Secord's

daisy-fresh—


and I don’t mean a

faded fabrication,

but the feel of the real

McCoy, its baby’s

bottom corolla,

 

the one you

pluck the petals from

to see if you’re truly

loved,

if it carries

to your final

breath,

 

though I recall

you once remarked


just how everlasting

every counterfeit

can be,

handing out a 50

to the beggar

along the way,

 

his gesture

of thumbs-up, smile of

gratitude—

once you departed

the store

with a scentless bundle,

its plastic, greenish

stems,

 

his conveyance to

you

they’ll be in bloom

a thousand years

from now,

 

when our currency

has died

and blown away,


when love  is spelled

with the letters of a

newborn tongue.

 

 

 

Andreas Gripp

October 26, 2024


RF Image


54 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

Catharsis

Comments


bottom of page