The Lily Petal

That off-key hymn, from aisle five

at the grocery, right by the oat milk.

Stopped me cold, a strange, sweet ache.

Just like Aunt Carol's, I swear it.

And then I saw the lilies, plastic

in a vase, wilting a bit in my mind.

Remembered the real ones, cloying

in the heat, heavy with their dying kind.

One stuck to my shoe, I remember,

pressed flat against the sole.

A creamy white against the scuff,

a small, sad, perfect hole

in the fabric of the day.

I peeled it off, threw it away.

But the smell lingers, doesn't it?

That sickly sweet, faint, sad perfume.

And now, this awful, tinny tune.