The Unearned Toast

I was looking for boots in a box by the bed

and found the flower, turned brittle and brown.

It was supposed to be pinned to a suit, it was said,

before the whole plan started breaking down.

Today is the Saturday we marked in the fall,

the one with the trees and the Vermont view.

Instead I’m just standing here, feeling quite small,

with a bowl of cold cereal and nothing to do.

I touched the carnation and a petal fell loose,

a yellowed flake dropping into the trash.

There’s no use for a tie or a polished-up spruce

when the fire has turned into nothing but ash.