John

They say she started hitting him while he was driving
wailing on him to the point that he wrecked his car
and the airbag hit him so hard
it busted open his nose
and that's why he wore the bandage and got laughed at
by the teenagers buying their comics from his register.
She'd wear wigs most of the time.
Long, curly red. Short, flapper black. Hay-straw blonde.
But when she went without, she'd adorn her shaved head
with a rosary. Tying it around to where the cross
hung loosely over her forehead. Bouncing with every step.
I was taking my break on the patio. Cigarette and a magazine-
when she walked up to me to ask me had I noticed the lizards,
"They blow their chest out when they're horny, ya know?"
I nodded and hoped she'd go away. I already knew that about lizards.
She didn't work there, but she'd never leave.
Popping out from behind gondolas, telling me things like
"I've been up since six a.m., playing my tambourine and praising Jesus."
"Well, that's nice."
I always felt bad for John.

(c) ct 2010