Wednesday, June 13, 2007
"Countenance"
The Haitian is always
smiling,
gliding generic
canned goods over
the scanner
with the expanse
of his solid
obsidian
right hand.
Blips march out
unevenly down
the line of registers,
the noise
consistently inconsistent
until the drone
of it is musical.
He stands
in the express lane
closest to the door.
He is never
at another register,
and I find myself
putting back
cans of peas
and boxes of cereal
to qualify getting
into his line.
His left arm
ends at the wrist,
five tiny nubs
protrude like
creamy, pink baby toes
that have
no strength or purpose,
and it is this
that draws me in.
Jittering in my skin,
needing to ask him
the question,
I am caught
staring at the
absence of a hand
as I sheepishly
fumble with my wallet
having broke
the countenance
of his smile.
Aleathia Drehmer 2007
Published by Juice 6/07
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment