When I Said GoodbyeDidi Menendez
I was making arroz con pollo. I was making espumita for my café. I was stirring the pot while the gizzards and neck wrapped in cellophane waited to become crisp in hot olive oil. I was grinding garlic into the oregano with a mortar. I was sipping Robert Mondavi chardonnay. My daughter sucked the juice out of all the limes. I drove to Publix for new limes. They were on special four for a dollar. I contemplated Double Stuff Oreo cookies. I waited for the check out girl to break my twenty. The grocery bagger said hello to my children. The grocery bagger asked if I needed help. I wanted to say yes. I need help. I used the change to fill my Cherokee. When I said goodbye, There was a bald man sending me poetry. There was a monk in Tibet dancing to poetry. There was a lonely woman in San Francisco jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge. When I made it back to the arroz con pollo, I rejected the bald man's poetry. I was not empathetic. I turned off the music. I turned on the stove. I fed the turtles. I gave some nibbles to the dogs. I threw a bone to the cat. I looked outside my kitchen window. The mango tree is still barren. You with your full head of hair. You with your perfect smile. Me left to suck on a chicken neck alone.
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