Cigarette ash sits on the deck table -
a pathetic excuse for hitting it big
fumbles through my fingers.
The ace makes me wince.
In the corner of my eye the daffodils
taunt me - they knew how I had acted -
sweet and sultry and begging.
Yellow and orange still painted my life
in makeshift vase - a gifted antique coffee pot
held my memories and forgiveness.
I always envied how flowers had the ability
to reconcile the most displeasing events-
or at least they tried their best.
And that’s all I could ever ask of him
or anyone -
try your best