The vase I was presented with
was fake: the copy of a copy
which wasn’t even real to start with.
I dropped it on the floor and watched
it smash, its gaudy decorations
no longer offending my eye.
I swept the pieces up and threw
them in the bin, then washed the floor
to rid it of all splintered shards.
I bought myself a brand new vase
(not copied from some lousy copy)
whose decorations I could live with.
I placed it on the window sill,
filled it with pink and yellow flowers,
and got on with this act of writing.
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