The Joke's on Me

For the Writer's Cramp

I thought up a joke
with the purest intent
clutching twenty-five bucks
to the joke shop I went

past the masks, past the wands
(in the back, magic tricks)
searching every last aisle
past a wall of fake bricks

'til I saw plastic flowers
with petals that spray;
I envisioned the fun
I'd have later this day.

as I asked them to sniff
and then gave them a squirt!
It was harmless and cute
and, heck, who could it hurt?

But on my walk home
came a downpour, you see;
It's immensely apparent
the joke is on me.