Last Day

My neighbor, bless her heart, meant well, I guess,

leaving these sad flowers, a wilted mess.

Wrapped tight in cellophane, still on my porch,

already browning, like a failing torch.

Carnations, pale pink, their edges curled and dry,

a limp salute beneath a indifferent sky.

They look like they've been waiting for too long,

a half-hearted gift, where nothing feels strong.

They sit there, an awkward, stiff bouquet,

like a forced smile at the end of a long day.

Just plastic, and petals, giving up the ghost,

a little death, on my doorstep, almost.