You have seen them wrapped
in purple paper neatly
arrayed in stepped,
almost elegant displays
near the entrance.
You have walked past them
dozens of times to
pick up a pack of gum,
two scratch off lottery tickets,
a cellophane bag of pork rinds,
twin fried, glazed apple pies
in wax paper wrappers,
cheap cigars in plastic tubes,
a twelve pack of imported beer
and bottles of a nationally
advertised sports beverage.
You have probably asked yourself
the same question I have asked
untallied times, “Christ, what
kind of loser buys flowers
at the filling station?”
After a brief scientific
survey, with a five
percent margin of
error, I answered
this probing question.
Losers with sharp,
careless tongues buy
filling station flowers.
Losers just like me.
THE MIND ATTIC 