Ewer

Quite the find, that cross between garden supply and
butterfly bodega. Giant tiger-lily monarchs parking
on your shoulder while tiny lace-wing moth types
nestled in your hair. The whole thing made us hungry,
but the place was crawling with pizza eaters. Then
I realized it was the same time last week when we
couldn’t get a table and –our kids –where were they?
I asked the owner if he had any idea. He was stand-
ing near a shelf full of nasal sprays and condiments,
holding a glass of water in his loosely bandaged hand
and I couldn’t help wondering whether there’d be
room near the lemons. I was thinking stoneware jug
in pink terracotta with indigo veins –not the stainless
steel buckets you see in hospitals –and the pewter
spittoons of bars –just a simple, modest classic as a
way to say thanks. But the waitress was a student I
once failed for plagiarizing. She had a look like she
was only two thoughts from coming after us with
daggers. I wanted to say this was it for jobs if she
didn’t drop the attitude, but her boss –he might take it
as an insult. Then he might not tell us where our
kids were. So I let it go, and in letting it go it slipped
and fell out on the floor –and I knew right then our
outing was in trouble –we’d dropped the kids in line
for the Ferris wheel –it must have been hours ago.
We practically flew the ten blocks but we found them.
The power had failed soon after they climbed aboard
and they’d been in tears near the top all evening.






Click here to listen to Gerald Yelle reading "Ewer"

Gerald Yelle has worked as a computer operator and customer service representative. He currently teaches high school English. His poems have recently appeared in Bayou, Paper Street Online, and Juked. Notes, comments, and links to poems published online can be found on geraldyelle.blogspot.com.