Poetry
Daffodils
Arlene Ang
he waits for the 15.28, daffodils in hand,
for that familiar gloss of dewberry
to lick the air weaving through weekend commuters
but Nina Ricci greets him instead
her rich smile dries up quickly
Gaulois steps out beside her
territorial ashes scatter around their bags
"I'm sorry, Pete."
she looks so regretful, he almost believes her
he shoves the daffodils into her arms
and quits the scene with a shrug
she never liked them anyway