Funny how a man always has some secret childlike sliver,
no matter how grown, how wealthy, how serious.
He doesn’t clean his ears.
Then again, I am a young girl, too.
I am not polished or even, and my nails have dirt underneath.
(probably from cleaning his ears)
Always the footsteps down the hall
a forewarning mewl of her lover’s call
As the hallway light through the cracked door pours
on the creaking, glossy, wood-planked floors
The name spilling from her lips abhors
Then the quietness in the dark returns
Little lace duvet that has been down-turned
And the sleep comes, graciously, with ease
when it’s done, and he has been appeased
Yet we still hear God’s voice in night’s breeze
Most people save the best bite for last, but I’m an expert. I start with the least deserving bite and slowly whittle it down to the 1st class cake. If cake wants to survive a little longer around me, it has to earn the privilege. It’s just delicious. That’s why I started baking.
My boss was a different character entirely. Penney was a strict believer that strife encouraged bonding, so she was careful to never be fully-staffed. Someone got stuck in the snow? Your vacation just got cancelled, buddy. You should know better than to try to leave town. Summer? Flat tires from construction, overheating engines. Autumn? There’s so much work to go around that it’s exhausting even with all hands on deck. Winter? Snow. Ice. You know the drill with carrying mail in the winter, when the bitter rain freezes into your gloves and the only way to wiggle your fingers is to trade them out for the spare, soggy pair drooping on the defroster. And Spring? Well, spring can be really beautiful. You still have the flat tires, but not quite so many since the nails haven’t really built up numbers yet. Spring feels like the blossoming bud that it is. No one wants to leave town during spring.
Anyway, what was my point? Oh, yeah. Even when your boss barks like she’s still in the military, and you got a flat tire in the pouring rain, and your spare had an unnoticed leak that left you pounding a plug in the sweltering steam of a 100 degree summer thunderstorm, and your truck smells like rot from the years of moisture built-up driving through rain with your window down, and all your shoes have holes worn in them like you’re some rural drifter, and Marnie in Apartment 12B wants your boss to make sure you haven’t been stealing her therapeutic shoe catalogs, do you know what you should do?
Have a piece of cake; because even a life more abrasive than sandpaper is pretty damn beautiful.