Shovel is shoveling.

Birds are chirping.

I’m digging.

Pretty things all around.

Red roses, red sunset.

Gotta get it in the ground.

Before the first frost.

Halfway in- not deep enough.

I growl, shoving his hand in the dirt.

“Roses are red,

Violets are blue.

Flowers are dead.

And so are you.”

I put the dirt over his face.

Kiss him good-bye.

Mwah, babe.

Next time- he won’t cross me.

Take the straw over.

Smooth it out.

Goodbye, my rose.