Thursday, June 19, 2014

After the Confetti Storm

Every day the chi-chi news vendor
unlocked the padlock, rolled up the sheet-metal door,
open for business. The grey-haired man in the executive power suit
leaned on the front of the newsstand:
clink of coins, a magazine in a uni-colored wrapper
was handed past the pyramid of colorful paperbacks.

I asked the vendor once. He shook his head,
“Not for kids. Not for little kids,”
in a sing-song voice. That was before
the boys from down the street pried the back
off the shed one night. Next day
the street was full of bright confetti. The vendor wailed,
gesticulated, then hung his head in shame,
wouldn’t speak to the cops.

I picked up a scrap. One word—two words—
JUICY-JUICY.” You can fill in the pictures.

We never saw the vendor again.

--word salad

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