Just So

By McKay Fritz

 

I am the terrorizer of the umbrella farms.

 

Over the years, I’ve yanked copious

Numbers of dandelions from their roots.

I’ve scattered flocks and flocks

Of wispy gravity sheep.

 

With my breath I become

The ultimate Orphan Maker.

The children do not scream

As they are flung into air.

 

The wind? What wind?

Have you ever seen the wind do this?

This is efficiency.

This is deliberate.

 

The green tumbles from my fingers.

The life giver. Now useless.

Not that it had any real use before.

 

In two weeks’ time, someone is cursing over a newborn.

They will pull and pull and pull

But they will not exhale.

That’s my job.

Piety
By McKay Fritz

​

I used to pronounce it
“pie-at-tea”
As fatted pastries prostrate
And candled cakes supplicate
Every Tuesday at noon.
The glasses clink, they pray, they drink
And stain the tablecloths with spoons.

 

I learned to pronounce it 
“pea-tea”
As wilted green orbs boil
Thick froth becomes hot oil
We insist on sipping too soon.
The glasses clink, we pray (we think)
Sunday ash-and-cloth immune.

​

These days I pronounce it
“pity”
As a broth set out before me
I tried it once. It bored me.
I sure despise flavors of boons.
My glasses shrink, I stay, I think:
On Monday run away with the spoon.
 

Wren: A Sauce Man

By McKay Fritz

 

There he goes, the Wren: A Sauce Man.

With reds and white he stirs a hot pan.

No one has once made a dish like he can,

The suave, the coy, dear Wren: A Sauce Man!

 

He paints with pastes, he twists their tastes;

A lack of food still haunts his plates.

But not for long, he works with haste:

No leaf nor flake will fall to waste.

 

And then, dear Wren, he pairs two friends—

A tart white base: a sharp pink blend,

The meats and breads soon meet their end

With hands once clean turned quick to spend—

 

The time on food, the coin on time,

The drinks on laughs, the tears on wine,

The swings on doors, the lines and signs,

The oft-too-quelled brave hope to dine.

 

So Wren, he cooks, and Wren, he pairs,

And when he stops and thinks and stares,

He knows just why the heat still flares

While all the Sauce Men like him still care.