Sunday, April 27, 2008
I’m sitting in Wal-Mart, in the McDonald’s.
So early the parking lot has empty spaces.
You can’t get a Big Mac if your life depended on it
And mine does. I settle for the McMuffin, avec ouef.
Combo. One of life’s mysteries. The coffee here
Is actually robust, and the little baggie of deep-fried
Death tastes as good as the next one. Food you
Don’t need teeth for, just a hole, just a pipe pipe pipe
The ubiquitous sound of beeping scanners beeps
In my right ear. Cartloads of everything taken out
Zapped, and put back in. Plastic, the agreement.
My other ear, the left [there is no other] toward a
Sun-dampened plate glass. I looked on the way in.
Saw that all within is a shadow. And now, here, steam
Rising, all is utterly silent beyond that glass beep beep beep
And cars are streaming down distant Strandherd.
Pushing things on wheels to their car-trunks flipping
Open in anticipation, to their homes, big doors welcoming
As they arrive, to swallow vehicle and all. An inner door
Shall open, leading to smaller doors, places to put things.
So silent, so silent beyond that glass, one unasked thought
In every head answered, I don’t really want to die yet.
Not quite yet.
Later, buying a Penman golf-shirt for $9.99 [and I
Don’t even golf] I will think back to how robust this coffee was.
I mean, is.
© Ciprianowords Inc. 2008