Daffodils
You buy a pound's worth
of these bastard asphodels
bunched like spring onions
in an elastic band among
the other groceries.
Barely arranged, their heads
rest on a vase's lip releasing
peppery, satin glove pressed
inside a mildewed book scent;
pages spoiled with pollen
audit lonely trails of flowers
strewn along the path,
another growing in the snow
beside the birth suite entrance -
happiness you can afford.
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