Flowers From The Fuckup Section
Grocery store at midnight
only the lonely wandering aisles
that smell like bleach and old bread
You head for the back
where the dented cans live
the markdown meat
the fruit nobody picked
when the sun was overhead
Right next to them
a rack of flowers
with wilted edges
and stickers that won’t stick
Roses leaning to one side
daisies missing petals
looking a little desperate
and sick
You stand there in your hoodie
cart loaded with instant noodles
and frozen crap
Looking at those plants
like you see a family member
caught in the same trap
You pick up a drooping bouquet
check the tag
laugh at the markdown slash
mutter “we’re all one bad week
away from the bin”
and toss them in the stash
These are flowers
from the fuckup section
half-dead but hanging on
marked down by people
who stop caring
once the bloom is gone
You take them home
cut the ends
put them in water by the door
Flowers from the fuckup section
blooming like a second chance
you never got before
Back home
you shove cans aside for a vase
that came with the place
cloudy and chipped
Fill it from the tap
drop aspirin in
fingers steady
even though your day was ripped
Bosses
bills
bodies that ache where nobody sees
still you stand here
begging a plant to just live
please
You say out loud
“nobody wants the busted ones”
not the flowers
not the stress
Then catch your reflection in the window
shrug
and fix the mess
“I want them” you tell the room
“I want the ones who made it this far”
in a world that only claps
for the shiny new car
Friends come over
see the leaning bouquet
ask why you didn’t buy the good
You say “these were cheap”
leave it at that
misunderstood
But the truth sits there
humming along with the fridge
you know what it feels like
to sit at the edge of a shelf
waiting for a hand that never came
having to save your self
Next time you feel like shelf space
marked down to nothing
in the back of the aisle
Look at those petals on your table
still throwing color
and give yourself
a crooked smile