A Valentine’s Day Poem

A hallmark stamp
across the neatly folded construction paper
of a brightly lit department store.

Moments away from paper cuts
slicing the tips of my dried out fingers
pedaling the tops of lightly frosted cards.

I could hand you generic words
that stamp the bellies of these pressed copycats.

In the hands of undeserving fathers
who feel obligated by their foaming children-
frothing with indifference towards their Papas.

An impersonal handout to a distanced cousin,
“Happy Birthday”,
I’m too lazy to actually say it

but I’m willing to toss coins
at the feet of uniformed WalMart workers-
for paper.

And I cry for the trees that wind up here.
Enslaved –
to a lifetime on the iron mantles of Puerto Rican hoarders

next to portraits of dead relatives
staring at the snow that just doesn’t compare to the sauna outside-
the palmy trees and coconut sand.

Crack open the skin of that card
and stare at the poisonous words of impersonality,
a skeleton void of organs.

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