Smiling wisely when I recognized
How spring comes to LA too,
Like a secret she now carries.
But of all she asked I can scarcely
Remember a thing. I can barely conjecture
How strange it must have been for her
To ask for such precision to her will.
Her daughter hounds me now, refuses
A home delivery of her mothers flowers
As Easter bouquet from beyond the grave
But a blood entitlement.
I have done so much wrong
Being Mr. Right.
