Daily missive breaks into the weekend for Saturday the 15th of March.

“Are they roses?”

He asked.

“You bought her roses?

What a cliche

What a cliche.”

I wondered where he was

The voice came from the shadow

Of an open door

In an old house.

There was no door

Just a hole in the wall.

A family of four lived in a car

On the corner

Opposite the Co-op

With the shutters

That stayed down

All day.

The house had no roof.

“Where did you buy them?

Not from a garage

Tell me you didn’t

Buy them from a garage

What a cliche

What a cliche.

She’ll tear off their heads

Stuff them in your mouth

Throw you out on the street

You can live under the stars

Like all the other failures

The hopeless cases

The moonstruck

The hapless and helpless.”

The windows were boarded.

A whole community

Lived under the flyover

They burned fence posts in braziers

A man in a beanie

And trenchcoat

Too big

For his body

Bigger than his nose

Which was too big for his face

Smiled and said

“Hey man, are they roses?

What a cliche

What a cliche.

Took them home

And look at me now.”

He laughed

It was a hollow

Rusty, corrugated scrape.

I walked on

Stood on the corner

Undecided

Held the stems tight

Knocked on the door

Waited a while

Until she came out

Took them with a smile

Kissed me hard on the mouth

Before saying

You bought me roses

What a cliche

What a cliche.”

And pulled me inside.