My My and Boo Hoo [February 11th | 41/365]

My father dragged us to Home Depot the weekend before my twelfth birthday
and, as consolation, bought for me a small cactus
that I had found in the Garden Center.

I thought it would make a good pet. It had a big red flower right on its head
(I hadn't noticed the crown of glue), and the guy said
I'd only have to water it 'like once a month.'

Even children, especially children, love Charlie Brown for picking the dying tree,
and teenagers love a nerd in a prom dress. We understand
our outsides are sharp, but stick on the roses

as if we're really so easily kept once picked, as if touching us won't hurt, as if
the fake red lives we affix to ourselves could compensate
for the sight of us when we finally dry up.