crazy roses

I buy a dozen roses.
red roses.
it's not like the old days
when I was a young pup
new at the game of love
and infatuation, thoroughly
addicted to the new
cupcake on the block.
it was a time
when you
had to go to a florist,
or call them to deliver.
every store has
roses now. gas stations.
7 11 s.
half price.
a third of the price.
at the next light there's
a man on the corner
with a shopping cart
selling roses.
I remember telling the florist
at the desk
what to write
on the card, to make amends
for some silly thing
I did or said.
begging for forgiveness.
hoping she'd take me back.
that flowers would persuade
her to let me back
into her crazy self absorbed
world. I was a glutton for
punishment.
my girlfriend at the time
had roses everywhere.
I nearly went broke.
it seemed I could do nothing
right. nothing ever
pleased her. she was happiest
when she was unhappy.
her house looked like
a funeral home.
which in reality that's what
it was. it was my pattern
for a long long time, but
i'm over that now. after
the last so called love of
my life,
I've seen the light.
no more roses, no more
crazies.