Why am I thinking of King Cake
Wreathed in a tether of flowers
I much prefer being on my iphone
I could just stay on here for hours
Oh there’s that boy from New Orleans
He’s been here for quite a while
He’s not all that bad looking
Maybe should put him in the Maybe File
Isn’t there someone out there for me
Who too likes long walks and talks
A guy who’d love me for being me
And not a toy to be kept in a box
Oh such a silly text from Sally
About that party last June
Yes, we should get together
And it probably ought to be soon
LOL, TTYL, and LUMOA.
Now time to say hi to Dad
Tell him I’m making the next Dean’s List
I love how he’s so supportive, and glad
That I’m my own true person—
Talented, thrifty, and pretty nice;
Cuz today’s awesome women
Are so much more than sugar and spice!
And still there’s that boy from New Orleans
He’s been here for more than a while
He’s not all that bad looking—
Maybe I could hazard one smile?
I wanna send you flowers
Or maybe some Mardi Gras cake;
To become your next someone
I’d do whatever it’d take,
Get you look up from your phone,
And get you on over here;
But to take such heartfelt risks
Causes such a shrinking fear.
Daisies, ‘glories, roses, or tulips?
Purple and green and some gold?
Or sip some liquor, ‘tis quicker,
At least so’s I’ve been told.
But I want us pure, clear, and real
Not lost in a sick dawn’s early mist—
As a week later you’d do a whimsey start
Remembering how we had finally kissed.
Call me a florist of winged feet
For a bouquet to melt yonder rock!
Look up, look up from that anchor phone—
Eyes to eyes, can’t we find room to talk?
I wanna send you some flowers
(And someday plan wedding cake);
Can I become your next someone?
Look up, look up, for Heaven’s sake!
So at the Gates stood Conor
Awaiting his newest best friend.
Faye joined him eager yet sore confused,
This was no one’s idea of a good end
She’ll never be seven
She plays now in Heaven
And our tears yields no answers
To the never answered Oh God, Why?
Why did that thirty-something
Lose contact with his humanity?
Just playing outside in her front yard
These things are always so damn hard
Are we all so willfully and totally blind?
Is this some new flavor of miswrought insanity?
Our ocean awash in pain and despair—
There’s no satisfying answer, ever, anywhere.
Bad parenting, bullying, party drugs?
A chromosome split and expressed wrong?
Just why can’t this stop, just…please…stop!
Do we just let this go and let Pain chase erelong?
Faye and Conor skip off into the sunset,
We here, head in hands, perplexed and twisted.
Happy Valentine’s Day, Faye, and to you who still love;
While our tears coalesce with a countenance sorely misted.