Carnation - Wendy McNeill

a single white carnation

sailed through the air hit the ground

behind it was laughter

and envy and joy in the sound

of passion and power

for the star of the hour

least noble of flowers

lays at her feet like a clown

just a step up from a weed

so common so hardy

a stranger to the fame

and other ridiculous things

a practical type

like the fella that threw you

who shuffles away

and exits the theatre alone

a single teardrop

softens the crease on his face

one of many hard living has shaped

«oh baby» he cried «why couldn’t i?»

«oh baby» he cried «why?»

«but look at you now, i guess i’ve done right»

so the carnation man picked up his bottle

and melted back into the night

she was succesful

the newspapers claimed

a pheonix from ashes

but what they never said was

she longed for a call

from a man she hardly knew at all

she folded her kerchif

and answered the dressing room door

to flashes of light and armfuls of flowers

«just put them over there» she said

«with all of the others»

but a ghost caught her eye

as the usher walked by

a crumpled carnation

fell through the air hit the ground