First comes Lunch Break.
“I see you writing over there and on Sundays I can hear you talking to your friend,”
she says.
She continues,
while her eyes sparkle with a mischief that is neither unfamiliar or unwanted.
“You guys are funny.”
I laugh
&
remember how flushed her face was
on the Sunday that she sat with us.
Lunch Break is an older gal;
I should stop to re-read her nametag
but I haven’t.
Right now,
her wry smile;
shaking laughter remind me of my mother’s
if only
in the space
of a single
breath.
Popcorn stops by next.
She too flutters matron’s
angel-wings as she looks in
on me.
“I’ve just popped a fresh batch,”
she informs.
I nod my thanks; scribbling onward
to a perceived victory
of poetic or otherwise literary
proportions.
Feeling particularly pitched at,
I pick up a box of Popcorn’s
salty siren-song scented
offering.
I call her Princess as I cash out.
“The new girl needs a name.”
says Princess Popcorn.
“It’s her first day. You have to name her too.”
I don’t know why they like this,
but they do.
Nowadays, it’s considered toxic & sexist.
(I call it old-school and wink in a knowing way.)
The New Girl…
Her tag tells me that her name is:
Jordan.
It’s she that I give my popcorn money to.
I smile.
Jordan returns the gesture.
“How’s day number one going,”
I ask.
“Okay”
says Jordan.
I pay for the box of popcorn
with a stack of nickels stolen
Off of Alexander’s bookshelf.
“$1.08”,
chimes Jordan.
She hands me 2 pennies back.
“Maybe tomorrow will be better than just okay.”
I say.
“Make the rest of today the best it can be.”
The New Girl gives a big, toothy grin and says…
“You too.”
I walk back to the cafe side
to munch popcorn
I don’t really want while I
line the nest of
this poem
with the feathers
of
gas station angels.
***
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications
Jan 31, 2020
Jan 31, 2020 at 9:08 PM UTC
First comes Lunch Break.
“I see you writing over there and on Sundays I can hear you talking to your friend,”
she says.
She continues,
while her eyes sparkle with a mischief that is neither unfamiliar or unwanted.
“You guys are funny.”
I laugh
&
remember how flushed her face was
on the Sunday that she sat with us.
Lunch Break is an older gal;
I should stop to re-read her nametag
but I haven’t.
Right now,
her wry smile;
shaking laughter remind me of my mother’s
if only
in the space
of a single
breath.
Popcorn stops by next.
She too flutters matron’s
angel-wings as she looks in
on me.
“I’ve just popped a fresh batch,”
she informs.
I nod my thanks; scribbling onward
to a perceived victory
of poetic or otherwise literary
proportions.
Feeling particularly pitched at,
I pick up a box of Popcorn’s
salty siren-song scented
offering.
I call her Princess as I cash out.
“The new girl needs a name.”
says Princess Popcorn.
“It’s her first day. You have to name her too.”
I don’t know why they like this,
but they do.
Nowadays, it’s considered toxic & sexist.
(I call it old-school and wink in a knowing way.)
The New Girl…
Her tag tells me that her name is:
Jordan.
It’s she that I give my popcorn money to.
I smile.
Jordan returns the gesture.
“How’s day number one going,”
I ask.
“Okay”
says Jordan.
I pay for the box of popcorn
with a stack of nickels stolen
Off of Alexander’s bookshelf.
“$1.08”,
chimes Jordan.
She hands me 2 pennies back.
“Maybe tomorrow will be better than just okay.”
I say.
“Make the rest of today the best it can be.”
The New Girl gives a big, toothy grin and says…
“You too.”
I walk back to the cafe side
to munch popcorn
I don’t really want while I
line the nest of
this poem
with the feathers
of
gas station angels.
***
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications
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