dedicated to MHB
I'd finished shopping at the Willow Grove Giant
My groceries placed in my Audubon bag
I knew exactly where my car was
And yet I stopped.
Something was missing
Something was amiss.
Should I or should I not?
The last time I was in the bakery
was when I bought my friend Winnie tea cakes,
half a dozen tasteless buns she loved.
Without hesitation I examined all the sweet things
offered within the Plexiglass cases. Messy things
that would get chocolate, delicious melt in your
hands chocolata, that were unthinkable for
me to buy.
And then I saw it.
Top shelf.
Pretty as a Marvin Gay
postage stamp, staring
directly at me.
If only I could eat it
then and there. Not allowed.
You'd be taken upstairs
and interrogated, then
cuffed and thrown in a
cop car with an iron grate
and driven to a jail cell
directly across from the
Upper Moreland Library.
The cruller cost all of
$1.29 which I paid for with
my credit card.
Holding it aloft like
a tennis trophy, my cart
and I trotted to my car
as fast as I could.
Good God, was that my friend
Rem barreling down the parking lot?
We chatted, he warned me of getting
the virus, and finally the cruller
and I were alone.
Crullers are fried
but not a drop of oil
did I taste. Simply a pure
pleasure sensation.
A Dionysian orgy.
Impossible to describe
"Delectable" will do.
EVERYBODY KNOWS
The neighbors
The friends
The relatives
The ones that feud
The ones that live alone and
cry from loneliness
The closet gays
Transvestites
Scammers
Those in slammers.
Hospice patients.
The homeless.
Bernie and Joe.
Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson.
Everyone wonders
What's it like not to be able to breathe.
Will we be saved?
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