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

Joe

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