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Writing Tripe Since 2004
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Friday, May 06, 2005
A Sonnet to the Guy at Einstein Bros. Bagel
I wonder ‘bout the bearded bagel guy.
With his unruly and bushy grey hair,
An old face creased in a permanent sigh,
Manning the register each time I’m there.

Why works he every day selling bread,
Ringing up bagels and fruit that is canned?
He should be writing beat poems instead.
Or fronting a ZZ-top cover band.

He is never polite, nor is he rude.
Blandly he asks if that’s all I will need,
Never looking at me, just at my food,
‘Nnouncing my change like its some sort of creed.

Yet I can’t but think here’s the riddle’s key:
An ankle bracelet that I cannot see.
posted by LoRi~fLoWer
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