Crushed Red Flowers

Poem inspired by "Cold Poem" by Mary Oliver
for Poem: A Virtual Poetry Group
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Crushed Red Flowers

A blanket of winter
settles over us
after supper.

Him in his recliner
and me in mine,
two boulders
sitting in the snowflakes
of television babble
and computer clicks.

“Do you want to watch
Wings with me?”
He holds out this bouquet
but I’m in the middle
of writing a poem.
“Maybe later.”

I sit in the little sunshine
of my creativity,
fingers playing
hopscotch on the keys.

He punches buttons
on the remote,
finds the Outdoor
Channel,
and watches hunting
in Alaska,
grown men chasing,
gunning down,
and killing
deer.
The blood splotches
are crushed rose
petals.

“Are you ready
for Wings yet?”
But I still want to post
the poem
on my blog,
meander down
the path
of other people’s
poetry,
and make comments
about their writing
so I shake my head.

“Well, I’m heading
upstairs, then.”
He drags the frozen
quilt with him.

I turn off the TV.
The leftover snow
melts
as I type away.