Birds of a Feather

Poem

by Patrice Bouchard, photo found on unsplash.com

On the kitchen table is a dark colored vase that holds a dozen dead roses from Valentine’s Day. A few petals sit scattered around the wooden surface. I pick up the dry round blackened blood-colored circles and toss them in the garbage.

I step outside in my slippers to the dumpster on the corner, I heave the bag high into the sky, and listen to the waste clang and boom against the steel walls of the…