She waited for him, hours on end.
The waiter stopped asking if she needed more.
The other diners cast their collective glance
and began to shake their collective head.
They told her, softly, it was closing time.
So she gathered up his floral promise
and walked into the street.
Two days later he had not called.
But she still held fast this rosary.
Third day, they began to wilt,
edges curling, petals wanting.
The bin was full, but it still had room
to slide these spoiled promises in.
Remi/Judy posted THIS PHOTO tonight, and it resonated with me. I blathered out this lil backstory ditty in response. (Photo courtesy of Judy, of course.)