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.