dead roses

dead roses
by misti rainwater-lites
The roses are dead in Tyler, Texas. I dance to the “Saturday Night Fever” soundtrack in Hobby Lobby and call Roxi Xmas on my invisible rotary phone that is shaped like a rooster. She’s not answering. She’s out with Billy Angel again. I hate it when she’s such a slut. The roses are dead in Tyler, Texas and cars honk behind me. I was trying to name a goddamn cloud.

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