Dyed Carnations

There’s blue, and then there’s blue. A number, not a hue, this blue is not the undertone of any one but there it is, primary. I held the bouquet in shock and cut the stems at a deadly angle. I opened the toxic sachet of flower food with my canine and rinsed my mouth. I used to wash my hands and daydream. I dreamed of myself and washed my hands of everything. Easy math. Now I can’t get their procedure at the florist off my mind. The white flowers arrived! They overnighted in a chemical bath and now they have a fake laugh that catches like a match that starts the kind of kitchen fire that is fanned by water. They won’t even look at me. Happy Anniversary.