the princess

felicity gets out of her car.
she drops her keys on the pavement,
she says, ‘oh darn it!’
and stoops to pick them up.

she stands up straight again
and goes to lock her car.
the reflection–behind her–
a man–‘AAH!’ she screams.

‘i’m sorry,’ says the old voice.
he chuckles–‘heh-heh-heh.’
‘i just thought you might want
this.’ and he holds out
a jar.

‘it’s nutmeg,’ he says.
‘magic nutmeg.’

‘get the fuck away from me,’
says felicity.
‘or i will mace you.’

she reaches in her purse for the
mace and she turns to walk
into the grocery store.

‘but young lady,’ calls
the old man.

she’s not listening.
she’s going through
the automatic doors.

at the store she gets
eggs, milk, yogurt, cheese,
pomegranates, oranges,
granola, celery, bagels,
and ice cream.

she sees a pie on the shelf.
it’s apple.
she thinks, ‘yum,’
and thinks about pie
with cool-whip.

she goes to the baking aisle.
she gets baking soda,
flour, brown sugar and then realizes–
‘i need some cinnamon and some nutmeg.’

she gets the cheap stuff for 89-cents
before going to get all the apples.

she gets a bag-boy to walk her out.
he puffs out his chest as he pushes her cart.
she holds the mace in her purse.
they don’t see the old man.
then she lets the bag-boy load her groceries
while she waits in the warming car.

she says thanks with a wave and drives

when she gets home
she takes it all inside.
puts everything away.
puts on pajamas.
ties up her hair.
starts working on the pie.

she does the flour, salt,
baking soda, then
she starts to give the pie
it’s needed dashes of nutmeg.

working silently,
she contemplates the old man
and mourns her own
fairy tale.


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