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Jul 2012
I can’t believe it’s ten dollars,
ten dollars for a rose.
I could drive thirty minutes
for a cheaper rose.
Thirty minutes south –
then it’s not a cheaper rose.

An old man and his wife
three houses up the road
grow big, bright white roses.
At night I’ll take one,
just one white rose.
They’ll never know.

I’ll give it to a woman,
and she’ll never know.
She only sees the rose.
She sees the rose and knows
I spent ten dollars on a rose.
It’s enough for me to wonder:

does money, effort, or the rose
curve her lips up,
lift up her cheeks,
hug and kiss me?
Perhaps a mixture of the three?
In reality it can only be

the rose.
I spent neither money nor effort.
There’s only the rose.
“I love you” for a rose.
A stolen, half-assed rose,
stolen from the old.
CH Gorrie
Written by
CH Gorrie  San Diego, California
(San Diego, California)   
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