Just A Ghost Buying Flowers, Nothing Special

Just A Ghost Buying Flowers, Nothing Special



I miss you
ambitiously.

5 p.m. traffic
stuck behind someone
at a gas station.

I float in
to buy a pack of cigarettes.

No one sees me.
Not the clerk,
wishing they were somewhere else.
Not the cracked floor tile
deteriorating from old mop water.

I stood there
so long
the idea crossed my mind.

I hand over my money.
In return,
I get my cigarettes
and twelve scratch off cards.

Twelve number twelves.

I step to the side
and scratch
the way you’ve scratched me
a pointed key end
knocking back layer
after layer
of possibility.

After all,
the best things
are buried deep.

You never said
which are your favorite.
In fact,
I don’t know
if you even like things like this

Roses,
lilies,
my head on a stem.

I have twelve tries
to get it right.

I got the idea
standing in line
at the gas station.

I could’ve brought the flowers
straight up.
But where’s the fun in that?

While most scratch for riches,
I too scratched
for a bill
not too many mention

To prove
that I’m still trying.

When you see them,
you’ll just smile
something small
that says,
Hey, I miss you.

Don’t forget to remember me.

Especially on days
you don’t remember.

I’ve written a note
to go with the flowers.
You’ll have to search
beneath my tongue
to find it.

I’ve signed it
with my breath
and left it beside
the rest of the money
I won from the scratch card.

Just a ghost
trying his best
to be remembered
ambitiously,
in your heart.