Bloody Valentines!
That time of year - a rash of scarlet hearts,
rack upon rack of them. How many trees
(a forest’s-worth?) are felled so Cupid’s darts
can clog the postman’s round with words like these?
The clichés on parade are glittering, red
as a clown’s nose or traffic warning light
and, crude or coy, were better left unsaid
if love is hoping to survive the night.
Themed menus mean that every restaurant
is fully booked; adoring couples beam,
drowning in lust and pink champagne, and haunt
their parody of love as in a dream.
But never mind: on midnight’s stroke today
is done; the crimson heart-shaped everythings,
the stiff red roses, toys, are packed away
and Valentine is back-stage, in the wings.
D.A. Prince
