Monday, May 18, 2015

Poet's Korner

"They don't serve principles off the chuck wagon"

In those days Salt
Creek's economy
diversified from
mines with the first
wafer fabrication unit

as the population
grew it
was time to
become a two-
horse town

wasn't long before
a new trader set
up a storefront

Joe they called 'im

folks said
provided cattle-
baron quality at ranch-
hand prices

I remained skeptical
and loyal to
the merc as towns-
folk flocked to
Joe's shiny new shoppe

that trader
Joe could teach
ol' Frank Ybargoikotxeberritxea
a lesson in herdin' sheep

One fateful day, I suppose it was inevitable, I
couldn't get across the now-congested city center.
Might be high time for Salt Creek to get one of them
fancy underground iron horses, but I digress.
The reality was I had an emergency date with some
mediumhorns in the Food Desert and needed provisions pronto.
I'd sooner be six feet under in a pine box than be a patron
to the new trader, but what choice did I have?
With a sigh, I stepped across Joe's threshold.
I'm embarrassed to admit how quickly my reluctance
and reticence evaporated under the tungsten bulbs.
Principles be damned! Living by one's ideals seemed
a luxury when faced with those price points.
Buy-one-get-one mango sorbet pops?
Economical Italian luncheon meats?
I'll never pay more than two bucks American for cowboy caviar again!
And Joe's cut flowers? Just the splash I need in 
my otherwise dust-colored life.

I couldn't help
but shake
my head and say
that trader Joe's not so
bad as I licked
my parched lips

little did I know
I was
two hours
to the
nearest human
settlement with nothing
but a canteen full of cookie butter...

--Steed Stetson

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