Prose Poem: The Turn


Out in the country, a man forms in line, at a store to pay for his gas.  I stand behind him, making the line; another, falls in close behind me.  The man in the front hands a Fifty Dollar bill to the clerk.  She holds it on purpose, up to the light, and marks a red streak ‘cross Ulysses.  Her boss comes up to her to share in the purchase, where both mumble close words together.  Then sudden the man behinds me lets loose:  “Hell!  Them’s good!  I just made ’em fresh, yesterday.”

The other clerk opens the next empty register, looks at me, and says:

“May I help you?”  I pay for my gas, whereupon she then asks:  “Would you like anything else?”

“A million bucks would be nice,” I reply, when she says, “That’s fine, if in Fifties.”




©2013, Marvin Welborn

8 December 2013

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