Not a Jiffy Man*
From behind her desk
over gold rimmed glasses
her voice crackled an announcement.
You will have your ham hocks
next time you come in.
His smile spread on his bearded face
from below a crooked nose.
Then I must bring you something in return,
perhaps one of my desserts.
He ambled into her office and
placed a savory pie atop her desk.
Here is one made with fresh strawberries.
I hope you like it.
His step had more bounce
his gait quicker from injections
into his withered spine.
A gigantic ham hock
peaked through the glass cover
of the ceramic casserole dish.
Its shear size startled him
and activated his seldom wet salivary glands.
I brought some cornbread too.
I figured you liked corn bread
but your not a “Jiffy Man.”
No sir, you look like a man
who likes it from scratch.
His smile was wide as a flooded river.
Ham hocks in one hand, cornbread in the other
he pranced out the door
proud not to be a “Jiffy Man.”
* Jiffy is the name of a popular corn muffin mix.
Note: This poem is NOT about a personal experience — I did not get ham hocks and cornbread.
Recent Comments