Her name was Jodi. We had dated maybe a dozen times, each followed by a card or flowers, accompanied by an original poem telling her how much I enjoyed our times together. My verses were innocent, maybe even sugary, meant only to show Jodi I could be both thoughtful and romantic.

When she failed to even mention the latest one I sent, I realized she had grown accustomed to them. I was no longer thoughtful or romantic, but only predictable. Time for a change.

This poem works, I think, because it surprises.