Always Opt for the Extended Warranty

The book was finally making sense
though it may have been too late.
My mother had pawned a bunch of them
off on me in exchange for the ones I'd lent her.
This one seemed the less of the evils, or maybe
it seemed the worst of the bunch
and therefore the most entertaining.
I was only appeasing her by succumbing
to the mindlessly predictable plot
shamelessly stuffed with a deeper, spiritual meaning
that'd fail to make sense to me for another twenty years
and countless failed attempts at flight
or at least a decent shake at the thing.

A middle-aged woman
long-robbed of her flowing locks
sat at my eleven
reading her book club's latest assignment.
The television blaring from the corner of the room
which most of us tired Toyota owners were ignoring
played a soccer mom cooking show.
When the phrase "all white-meat chicken" slipped from
the host's mouth like a promise of quality ingredients
I saw my fellow reader's head snap up
as if being cued by the words. Some Mexican peppers
were mentioned next and she frowned; Carl wouldn't like
all that spicy business, especially since the ulcer got worse
after his lay-off. Her head dropped back down
to her trite little novel like a defeated old hen.
Then I saw the title on the cover.
It was the same as mine.

"Mr. Vargas, your truck's done with the diagnostic.
It's the power steering pump. The part's four hundred,
the labor's two. Do you want us to go ahead and..."

"I'll live with it for now," I grumbled, tucking my book
under my arm as I reached for my wallet.

For now, maybe. But for how much longer?
I pondered my options as I made my way outside.

"Oh, we're reading the same book," the shorn sheep
babbled as she passed me in the parking lot.
Carl would be livid that the alignment had cost so much.
He always warned her not to hit those speedbumps so hard.
Her voice was fraught with the fear of telling him the damage.
"Do you like it so far?" she asked, pointing to my bookmark
two-thirds of the way through the tightly compressed pages.

"No hablo ingles," I said in my best John Wayne
as I left her to scratch her head. Carl hated when
they couldn't even speak the language...

Life's a book that no one else will ever bother to read.
I don't expect a second glance, let alone a Pulitzer.


Currently reading:
"The Celestine Prophecy" by James Redfield.