I pluck a card from the display.
The words within gargle in my throat
Until my tongue longs to spit the sour.
I swallow the urge,
And place the card back into its slot.
This ritual repeats until options exhaust,
Save the cloying cards below
And the ostentatious offerings above.
How does something so seemingly simple
As purchasing a greeting card
Become a game of betting and bluffing?
I loathe to trite complications.
For whatever you were,
Whatever you are,
Whatever we are…
I know what I am not.
I skulk over to the blank card section.
I can write the truth there.
Not the whole truth.
I choose a card with flowers.
You like flowers, don’t you?