Crumpled Flowers

My friend dances on a stage covered in flower petals;

the Audience’s thanks for Their performance.

Their pointe shoes pick their way through the crowd of red and white roses

finding my soiled orange converse that complements the gray concrete floor.

I meant to give Them flowers today

at least fresh ones

but I had bought them a week before.

Not only do they wilt, but they crumple

curling like the ends of Their auburn hair

dried after sitting in the winter sun.

Without hesitation They snatch the bouquet from my shaking hands.

I blush, mumble, and excuse my inferior appearance

except they don’t care

They are just happy I am here.