Josey picks me up at work in a car we bought
together, car she dug out of frozen slush for hours.
She picks me up and gives me roses. Valentine’s Day.
Usually we just turn up the heat, one day each winter
we don’t need PolarFleece and UGGs inside our house:
75 degrees, old movies, tenderloin, champagne.
Roses on the end table, then on the dresser
so I can see them when I fall asleep, again when I
wake up. From now on I’m buying red light roses,
maybe a whole bucket full some time I’m feeling flush.
They make the bucket guy so happy, it feels so good
to rose drive-thru. The red light roses, like scratch tickets,
help the local economy, do hardly any harm. Red light
roses smell like roses. Red light roses come with baby’s
breath. Red light roses come to you, make you happy you
hit a red light, make you wish you had more time just
joshing with the guy. Red light roses last for days.
They last for weeks if you don’t mind them dead.
Red Light Roses
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