by David Plumb
A wealth of beach brims toward whitewashed afternoon.
Hither, a bevy, an enclave, a circle, a twist, a gate that keeps
wars on one side, swimming pool and glib on the other.
Ask about Pelosi? It’s a sandwich? A new kind of pizza?
Buy one at Lulu’s next to Circuit City . Want to run up a bill?
You’re in the right place. Credit accepted. Twenty-three percent and running.
The story about the man stealing the mannikin in the white dress?
He hid behind the sale on dress shirts and soon-to-be out of styles.
Waited until the lights went out. Snapped the dear girl right out
of the front window and slipped off. Laid her across the backseat?
Folded her in the trunk? Don’t know. Don’t care
to raise my hand to question one cent tax for transportation.
With promises of double decker busses and less waiting time.
A thicket of contractors hoots to the right of the podium.
Sweating citizens flag the air with hope and despair.
First dibs. Guess who? One cent? I’ll pass. Ha!
David Plumb’s latest fiction book is A Slight Change in the Weather. He has worked as a paramedic, a cab driver, a, cook and tour guide. A long time San Francisco writer, he now lives in South Florida . Will Rogers said, “Live in such a way that you would not be ashamed to sell your parrot to the town gossip.” Plumb says, “It depends on the parrot.”
