"Don't Misunderstand Me" - More Old Poetry

The bouquet resides in the toilet now,
a casualty of thrown vases
and curses, sharp objects
from purses
and a middle finger blazing
like a beacon across the room,
an angry gesture with a hazy origin
(and I still haven’t figure out
what I’VE done).
Another plate soars above the love seat,
and while there’s a horrible irony there,
I’m too busy ducking
to make the comparison
with the wall of china
shattering at my back
as Chairman Ow,
from out of nowhere,
slumps to the floor and sobs,
unable to speak.
It’s only then we hear the sirens in the distance.