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More like a vault you pull the handle out

More like a vault you pull the handle out
and on the shelves not a lot
and what there is (a boiled potato
in a bag a chicken carcass
under foil) looking dispirited
drained mugged. This is not
a place to go in hope or hunger.
But just to the right of the middle
of the middle door shelf on fire a lit from within red
heart red sexual red wet neon red
shining red in their liquid exotic
aloof slumming
in such company a jar
of maraschino cherries. Three quarters
full fiery globes like strippers
at a church social. Maraschino cherries maraschino
the only foreign word I knew. Not once
did I see these cherries employed not
in a drink nor on top
of a glob of ice cream
or just pop one in your mouth. Not once.
The same jar there through an entire
childhood of dull dinners bald meat
pocked peas and see above
boiled potatoes. Maybe
they came over from the old country
family heirlooms or were status symbols
bought with a piece of the first paycheck
from a sweatshop
which beat the pig farm in Bohemia
handed down from my grandparents
to my parents
to be someday mine
then my child""s?
They were beautiful
and if I never ate one
it was because I knew it might be missed
or because I knew it would not be replaced
and because you do not eat
that which rips your heart with joy..

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by:- admin posted in:- thomas lux

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