Kate's Oubliette Poem by John W. McEwers

There was a day
where I was in a store
and I bought something
for myself
from myself
for you.

You see, you were terrible with gifts
or terrible with dates
or just with numbers
or with generosity.

Perhaps you just hated birthdays
or anniversaries
and Christmas, too.
But there are few gifts
I suppose
like you.

And you'd love me sure, a little while, of course
and in your own special way,
but your love never bought me that Guns N' Roses album.