to browse
the donuts, not buy,
when the little girl
behind the counter yells at me.
hey mister, she says.
aren't you the dude who ordered
a wedding cake?
you and that skinny angry woman?
it's shaped like a blue Tiffany box?
maybe, i say to her,
squeezing a bag of just baked buns
on the rack.
so hot and soft in my hand,
yummy.
well. it's ready, she says, while
maniacally chewing a wad of gum.
the cake is ready, would you
like to pay for it and take it home?
it's been sitting
in our refrigerator
for almost three years now.
it took us hours to figure out how
to make those stupid ribbons
out of icing.
she brings it out with the help of
a grumpy man in a white bakers hat,
and sets it on the counter.
it's beautiful with that Tiffany
blue color, a little stale, but
still looking good.
what the hell, i tell her.
put it in a box and i'll take it home.
it may be the only good thing
to come out of that nightmare.
do you take paypal?
and could you wheel it around
to my car?
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