01 June 2006

Fleetwood Grocery

the butcher man's white coat, daubed over
with crimson, the knife slicing, again
and again the Sunday cuts, buy one

get one free, slapped onto styrofoam
and shrinkwrapped--to tap--or
not to tap--to secure his attention

that is the question as the eggs, the
milk, the bacon beckon--while the
manager ticks off the loaves on the

breadman's blue pallets, four, eight,
sixteen, checking off the numbers
and---love, love me do--breaking

in over the P.A. Do I love you?
I love you like onions as they go from
sharp to sweet, browning to translucence
in a cast iron pan--sliced sausages,
plum tomatoes, will finish the mix

thick papered bulletin board of promises:
I will clean your house
I will care for your child
I will do light housework
I will care for your elderly
I will serve at your party
I will teach you how to play the guitar

Marcella sits outside finishing
her cigarette break, smoke spiraling
as she uncovers the numbers with
a silver coin, scraping the grey
into slim sausages to be blown
into the wind

bakery--you have a call on line two--
as the cool slabs of cheese sit next
to the knishes, lovely comestibles waiting
for their devouring

1 comment:

Humour and last laugh said...

Interesting poems!