It was supposed to be a victory

It was supposed to be a victory.

A ten-dollar orchid from the bin by the milk.

Now the stem is the color of a bad bruise,

propped up by a plastic green stake

that looks more alive than the plant.

The last petal fell behind the radiator

three days ago. It went translucent,

then vanished into the dust.

I keep watering the dirt,

waiting for a ghost to turn green.