Target Return

The box was big, and oddly shaped,

just like the lamp he had embraced.

I hauled it in, this ugly thing,

no joy did its bright purchase bring.

The deadline loomed, a final date,

to rid my life of all that weight.

In line, the clock just ticked so slow,

my face was flushed, a worried glow.

The clerk, she scanned, she barely glanced,

a quick transaction, no romance.

She slapped a sticker, red and bold,

a judgment on a story told.

'RETURN,' it screamed, right on the pack,

no turning, darling, coming back.

The money's mine, the lamp is gone,

and still, the ache just lingers on.