My Dead Ex-boyfriend

Hey readers, I’m back briefly to share a poem. What inspired me? A recent visit with a friend who’s had more than enough trouble with a persistent stalker, to the point of requiring a restraining order. Also reading about an old acquaintance who is now an urban beekeeper in NYC. And finally watching the beautiful daisies I’ve had in a vase slowly wither and die. Mash these things together in a bowl, add some dark sugar, a little eye of newt, throw it in the oven and out comes a freshly-baked gloomy poem.

 

He Was Pushing Daisies

 

The doorbell rings.

 

“Special delivery for Vivian,”

says the stranger holding a small card

and a bouquet of decaying daisies.

The card reads, “Vivian I am dead serious.

We belong together. Do you like these flowers

from the cemetery? See you soon.”

The petals are pale and wilted, sick with the scent of sweet rot.

 

On this gray day of fog and feelings,

I look outside, see the dark shapes of trees in the distance.

Shiver. Let a tear escape because I can’t escape him.

I knew after three dates he was Wrong.

Showing up everywhere, calling, wanting, creeping –

even in my dreams.

I broke it off quickly but he wouldn’t disappear.

Said I was “the one.”

The one that got away, I smile to myself.

 

I remember him crumpled on my kitchen floor

after I released the bees. First they brought him to his knees,

and, as he flailed about, they stung him until he was pushing daisies.

 

Lucky me, able to dispose of him with one deadly allergy.

My smile vanishes. It’s been one week and my dead

ex-boyfriend is back.

 

The doorbell rings.