Thanks for the flowers, dear,
but tulips are my favorite.
I like the orange ones, and I’ll
take them on the dinner table.
I can’t smell them, but that’s
the best part. Please don’t take
offense if I don’t bury my face
in these that you’ve carefully
selected. Daffodils and daisies
curl up and die, their scents
dissolving into wheelchairs and
bandages. So if it’s okay with you,
my dear, I’m going to throw
these ones away. My home is not
a graveyard; my table will not
be a symbol of the dead.
But should you want to flatter me
again, I’d love some tulips, please.