1881 days ago
I am resting on a pile of produce boxes
on the sidewalk near the curb
at Fairway, a very classy
supermarket on the upper
west side of Manhattan, when
from out the door to the sidewalk display
comes Melanie Griffith dressed in a pink suit
wearing clunky black heels and black
stockings on her shapely thin legs,
and blonde hair in a kind of wind
blown flip, talking to one of the clerks
wearing a green apron marked Fairway
just as pleasant as you please, and
from where I sit it is something
instructional she is asking and he
is telling her about green beans
or maybe carrots and she keeps smiling
and then she leaves clicking away
on those heels carrying her carrots
and he comes up to me and asks if
I am all right, which was nice of him
considering that he just finished talking
to Melanie Griffith and I am sitting
on his boxes.
Helen Padway lives laughing, loving, and learning in Glendale, Wisconsin.
Her romance with words (and life) is both a pleasure and a challenge. Her
poetry has become the gateway to her inner mirror and the world around her.
Her poem was originally published in the 2009 Wisconsin Poets' Calendar.