delivery

up too late
you rise
out of bed
and find your
pants, your
shoes, someone
is at the door,
mostly likely
with bad news.
it's only seven,
who or what
and why would
they be
knocking so
frantically long
and hard this
early in the morning
you go down
the stairs,
stumbling, still
woozy from
the night before.
and you open
the door to a
blustery wind,
and it's the little
girl from down
the block with
two boxes under
her arms. she says
your cookies are
here, your thin
mints have come in.