Thursday, February 15, 2007

A poetic observation on the wretched V-Day (1)

Strange Trophies

Once I used to know a girl
Who every year on Valentine's
Browbeat her boyfriends
Into giving her a huge bunch
Of long-stemmed roses.

She kept them, year by year,
(The roses, not the boyfriends)
Pinned to her bedroom wall:
Faded, dusty, desiccating -
Like mummified cadavers.

Every year a new boyfriend;
Every year a new bouquet of brittle roses.

This, believe it or not, is a true story - one of my first girlfriends (though I wasn't with her for V-Day, so was spared the bizarre rose ritual. We did, however, stay in touch for many years; so I witnessed the steady accumulation of 'trophies'.).


Anonymous said...

The title is marked as (1). Does this mean you'll spend your V day belting out more poetic observations? or is this to mark your 1st Vday blogging?

Her room must smell awful. How does she sleep in it?

Anonymous said...

I typed too soon. I see number (2)... What would you play in the rock group - have I missed a post describing your musical talents?

V day in *** is the same this year - plastic wrapped roses here, there, everywhere.

I spent mine eating Brazilian steak, mozzarella sticks and french fries at a Russian restuarant with a group of fabulous singles (and the occasional equally fabulous married couple). The Punk who organized the night and her Captain insist my meal was authentic Russian - what do I know? I grew up in middle America during the Cold War - they could tell me chicken tikka originated in Russia - for all the Russian education I got as a child.