Old World Antiques
While waiting out the anxiety of August,
a poor retail month, boredom as palpable
as poison oak rash, Fish, my boss
wanting my happiness almost as much as business,
sings to me in mock Japanese to get my attention;
I am reading Elsa Morante’s History
and weeping over the boy hero’s death.
Sadness is bad for business.
Fish wants me to take a Valium.
As I stand outside the front door pulling
myself together, two ancient Tibetan monks
walk slowly toward me looking down.
The smaller one gazes at me, cracked
glaze of his face breaking into greeting,
both enter the store.
I can’t believe my good luck!
My open heart must have drawn them here...
Immersed in our oriental showcase,
the younger, genderless monk beckons to me,
but as I approach Fish hands me a note:
“Don’t waste your time on this cheap,
shit-head monk. He’s a pain in the ass...”