Flower Shop

"It's old and decrepit, a small, squat building, smack dab in the middle of a worn parking lot."

Flower Shop

It’s old and decrepit,

A small, squat building,

Smack dab in the middle of a worn parking lot.

The tar is cracked and uneven,

It’s deep, gravel-filled wounds surrounded by tarmac of a darker shade.

The building itself is divided in two.

The smaller section has passed through several phases throughout the years,

Making short, choppy attempts at supporting someone’s livelihood before shutting down.

The last time it was open, it was a flower shop. I’d watch the lady who ran it water her flowers on my way to school and wonder-

Why here?

Why this place of all places?

The only available view is that of the worn parking lot and busy intersection,

Or the man who sometimes sells fruit in the lot across the street.

It was next to an old restaurant called Munchies that apparently sold Chicken and Fish and secreted the heavy, pungent odor of fried food.

It was directly behind an old, beat-up Save-A-Lot and down the road from a grafitied Baptist Church.

But every morning, she watered her flowers,

Tending to them with care,

Ignorant of the honking cars and busy traffic,

And I just wondered-


The End

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