i listen to her rant about her boyfriend,
about how he never calls, about how
        this isn’t ***** dancing, my name isn’t baby.
i nod when i’m supposed to and agree
when it seems necessary.
       how are you and that guy doing, anyways?
i tell her that we’ve been doing fine
and that he never buys me flowers.
        what a shame, pretty girls deserve flowers.
i think about it later that night,
about how i never get flowers.
        you’re pretty enough, really.
i can hear his voice inside my head.
i close my eyes and i can see him.
        why don’t you believe me?
i want to tell him that pretty girls
deserve flowers, and he has yet to deliver.