walking out of a Shell station, a man
pulls a rose so fast from behind his back

that it startles the woman he’s with
causing her to jump back

the rose is skinny, erect, the way
it’s wrapped in tight plastic

i guess it’s the type of rose you get
at a convenience store gas station

the type a man does not intend
on buying, but does do anyway, to go

with his liter coke and bag of chips
maybe the rose is for his feelings

a small gesture for showing up. none
of us intend on feeling the way we do

do we? one moment so beautiful and
hot-blooded among fuel-pumps

we could explode and keep exploding
if only she’d flick her cigarette

the next so certain that there isn’t
a moon. there’s a hole in the ice

i could swim through