it hits you funny,
sometimes, death,
like a sledgehammer
made out of putty
wielded by a midget
with spasticity
as a surgeon
would wield a knife
I was at an auction
rural type
lots of welders
and big implements
for fixing combines
or tractors
mixed in
with delicate china
I love the smells
of old leather
and musty books
french fries and donuts
with coffee
from the canteen in the rear
that seems as popular
as the gavel up front
but it was different somehow
not quite the same
though the auctioneer
greeted me by name
or at least his wife
smiling over her clipboard
and asking if I was feeling better
after my recent bug
I said “Yes, thankfully!”
and scurried to reach my seat
but when I looked around
I realized the faces
I am used to were gone
dead
never to flash the card
marked 410 or 287
or nod like a Watergate crony
over the box of goodies
2 dollars bought
from under the eye
of a lurking dealer
I smiled to myself
sadly,
and left my number
at the counter
thanking them for the day
I might not be back.
ml’15
(original image by Succo @ Pixabay.com)