NAPOWRIMO DAY FIVE

Well, it's Day Five of Napowrimo, and I'm still going strong. Of course, by the time the days turn into double-digits, my ego will need deflation. I get pretty satisfied with myself when I actually accomplish what I said I would.

Today's been a long day of writing and reading other people's writing, so I'm off to enjoy the outdoors for an hour with my dog. I finally got a new camera (r.i.p. old camera) and will be able to supplement my posts with Colorado scenery once again!

Thanks for all your comments, everyone. I love the day after posting, when my email inbox has at least five messages, none of them advertisements from expedia or amazon. Yahoo!

Enjoy the week!

HAM WITH SLICED PEARS

The old man ordering coffee

ahead of me catches my eye,

the jeans-with-jean-jacket combo

beneath a crisp red trucker’s hat.

He asks the barista how

her Easter holiday was. Nice,

she says, I mean, pretty quiet.

And he says he ate ham

the same way he’s eaten it

all his life, every Easter,

roasted in a pan half filled

with sliced pears, except

he says pears like he means

pearls, or diamonds, a ham

baked with sapphires pinned

to its sides in lieu of cloves.

The barista smiles like a good

vegetarian, lets him recount

all seven bites he took

before getting up for seconds;

he doesn’t actually eat the pears

but leaves them on the side

of his plate, it’s the juice

that matters, and the ham

soaks all of that right up.

Fruit pulp makes him think

he’s eating wet dirt and he

doesn’t like that. The barista

is picturing all this: the man

cutting into his ham with fork

and butterknife, his napkined lap,

the priceless pears scraped

into the trash bag after dinner.

The wet dirt of the world

snaking up tree trunks months

before a holiday dinner is prepared.

She hands him his cup,

paper with no lid, the whipped

cream spiraling up from

his hot cocoa—cocoa—

like a painted cathedral spire.

...