Wearing sunglasses in January,
she was thin and buzzing
like coffee and bumblebees
with a face blurred by makeup
and the vagueness that comes
between thirty-five and fifty.
She was trying to write a check
for something like tires or maybe
brakes for a Buick but she couldn’t
find her license, so in harried anger
dumped the contents of her purse
on top of my counter and it was all there:
the lipstick, cell phone, eye liner, Ipod,
wallet & a small black tiny gun that spun
like a top as soon as it hit the counter.
That, she said as she scooped the gun
back into her purse, was a huge pain in
the ass to get: I had to sit in a crowded
CCW class at the county building
with all kinds, young and old, white and black,
male, female, gay and straight and they
were all so happy and scared just to be
able to carry a gun and, of course,
I got fingerprinted and there was a long
line for that too, something like fifty deep
at eight o’clock on a Tuesday morning
and there I was already late for work
but I just had to have this because you know
how it is these days...
and finally, the check
was written, and a few days later, bounced back.
David LaBounty © 2009