Monday’s in Berry Town

Monday’s in Berry Town

Innocuous glance through a store front as I exit my car

To acquire ricotta cheese in an irreplaceable component

To my birthday bash lasagna for two: my daughter and I 

Hoping to comingle oregano, noodle, sauce and Romano

Go about our way in a parade unabated to the cooling unit

Yet in the look I see the bald head of a thirty-something instead

Passing over onions and tomatoes, garlic and potatoes

And the profile goes miles to say, I just should have gone to the other store today

I walk up with my offspring and see him gripping

The woman I married like a turnip or peach or produce in reach

To squeeze in connection as if no one else worthy of mention

Was around in this air and I make a sound and they turn

In glee to see this six year old tike next to me rush to her arms

In over-exuberant plastic-alarm that over the top is the proper greeting

More often than not decided to be conveyed no mater the present company

Or stage and this hairless-cauliflower head asks about her school day instead

I am silently blankly staring at the space in-between them sorting out bacteria processes

Lactose-based cubes and sliced bags in hues of white and orange,

Realizing the ricotta is all sold or stolen, and there will be no purchase today

Or lasagna prepped or made, just this pairing of people that have

Manipulated my shopping patterns, domicile and employment location

Into a radius around where my joint-custody arrangement mandates

The lies, the adultery like roaches under the spotlight of harmony

Scurrying and twisting for so many months in the listing

Of court-ordered discoveries and none of these came to light

And my misguided faith prevented my wife from ever bearing the burden

Of the ramifications of the priests Sunday sermon on marriage and fidelity

And the life, promises and vows were originally meant to be

Held to and honored and all of this mystery is commonly explained

In a grip of a hand to an impossibly bald man on the ass of a crustacean of a woman

I would rather eat borax than kiss.  If I could go back I debate the width

Of time I would eliminate, my daughter’s life at stake

And so I am here at this produce store, buying my own birthday dinner

I will make myself to celebrate in theory as I take the ingredients of the shelf

Knowing one day, my daughter may have a different perspective on the matter

Than to give that man a hug right in front of me, but for these years

I will just let this all be.

Happy Lasagna!