Borroughs at Midnight
Dan Nowak

Valentine’s Day became post-modern
when you showed up at work with flowers
and counter-culture literature. You cried
by the bar as I waited on couples
ordering cheese fries and steaks. Was it
for me or the dead cow surrounded
by vegetables? I should have offered
to drink with you afterwards, gold tequila
on a black day. I told people our salad
dressings for eleven hours that day. My house
was too quiet that night so I hung your
flowers upside down and left them until
gravity ejaculated all of their petals.
Midnight came and I kept reading without you.

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