A friendly deli Hindu
drops the plastic fork
for my owed shot
of potato salad
on his contaminated counter
missing my paper bag--
his intended
and sanitized target.
He reaches back instantly
to replace it
with another whale-killer
like his liquor license
is on the line.
"Don't worry about it, brother,"
I exalt him through
uncaffeinated teeth.
"We've all got
to die sometime."
He laughs in a tone
that doubts me
and spills my change
into a hand.
Currently reading:
"No Country for Old Men" by Cormac McCarthy.
