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I always thought roses would have been nice,

great, mysterious boxes of them

delivered to my door,

but I am older now

and realize that roses are extravagant after all.


I’ve had my days

of sitting dreamy-eyed at lunches with the girls

while they recounted their latest escapades.

Now I know better: only half of me listens

while the other half studies the menu.


I’ve been known to envy couples on street corners

entwined in each other,

but I am past that

and instead

take stock in my independence.


I’ve fantasized about dancing to waltzes,

slow, whimsical ones with lots of sax,

being whirled around an empty ballroom,

but styles have changed

and disco is the rage again.


If all be told

I’ve even craved an eloquent invitation to dinner

complete with reservations and candles,

but I have lived without it

and now find pleasure in eating alone.


As you can see

in retrospect I have managed fine,

but from time to time I have also wished

that roses

weren’t quite so beautiful.


(Photo entitled “Blanca” by John Benigno.)

Writer and Poet

Tricia McCallum profile

Tricia McCallum

Always be a poet. Even in prose.
Charles Baudelaire.

In essence I am a storyteller who writes poems. Put simply, I write the poems I want to read.[…]

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