The milk man died last week. I didn't
know him well, just enough to know his favorite
chew and how much he hated Fritos.
I knew his lover and her worn-out
windbreaker, her frizzled hair as gold
as her Marlboros. I sold her a pack of silvers
once and she nearly snapped my neck.
They take (took?) their tobacco dead
seriously. She hasn't come back
to work yet, though her five allotted
days of grief are over. The empty
milk crates just aren't empty anymore.
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 9:44 PM UTC
The milk man died last week. I didn't
know him well, just enough to know his favorite
chew and how much he hated Fritos.
I knew his lover and her worn-out
windbreaker, her frizzled hair as gold
as her Marlboros. I sold her a pack of silvers
once and she nearly snapped my neck.
They take (took?) their tobacco dead
seriously. She hasn't come back
to work yet, though her five allotted
days of grief are over. The empty
milk crates just aren't empty anymore.
