My Husband Never Buys Me Flowers
I see them every Saturday, those men
Cradling a bouquet of grocery store flowers –
Usually dyed daisies, sometimes carnations,
Hydrangeas, a single rose in rouge.
It’s enough to make a gal feel jipped
Out of romance, if it’s supposed to look
Like this – a nervous man in a suit,
Standing in line, tapping his foot,
As I empty my shopping cart
Behind him in line, as he pays
For the flowers, disappears into the night.
This is the image of what love is supposed to be –
Men on white horses
Men buying flowers
Men in clean pressed suits
Men coming in to save the day
My husband, at home, slumbers on the couch
After a long day of work in the garden,
Trimming back the chaos of the oak
Whose shade was suffocating my marigolds.
His hands bloom with blisters
Like the rouge petals of a rose.