Two Dollar Slushy
The big Bukowski prompt response
My son asked that I show up with a slushy
at pick-up; it’s hot as a witch’s brew out there today
I say, I’ll think about it.
Along the way
little one and I stop at the orchard
blueberry crops have been plucked bare already
but those summer apples and pears are prime for picking.
Upon arrival I notice the wildflowers have sprouted up
as tall as sunflowers — their aroma now pasting the humid air.
We enter the tiny market — I see the dripping wet apples, pears and deep purple oblong plums — not like those round ones you find in grocery stores “freshly shipped” from Cali or where have you.
As I make my selections little one notices the red straws peeking up from inside cardboard cups — although slightly out of view — he knows the promise of something sweet to be slurped up those cylindrical tubes.
Of course, I say — secretly wanting to implant the memory of shopping for produce with mama — I think to myself, we’ll turn these pears into cobbler. That’s gotta have real sticking power. Just then two men step in — I notice one of them noticing me — and forget about it in the next moment.
After making my purchase I remember my son’s request. I ask the teenager behind the counter: how much for one more slushy? He says” two dollars” but I have no cash and can’t meet the credit limit. Just then I hear a voice behind me state: “I got it.” I turn around to see the man who noticed me. Our eyes deadlock. He waves his hands in the air to dismiss my hesitation and repeats: “I got it.”
It’s certainly odd this thing that transpires between
he and she. I somehow like it, I somehow fear it, I somehow remain transfixed in the space where no words can describe it. But that look — I know it — every woman knows it — the look when thirsty lips are on the verge of pursuing her.
I stare into those hungry eyes — acknowledge what I see — with no further invitation — I thank him for the slushy and get on my way.
I relay the encounter to my husband
he’s fine with it — says he would have done the same
I say, yeah but there was this look
he’s unfazed
Although I’ve never read Bukowski my bookshelves are lined with him
from when our collections merged way back then. I decide to peruse his side of the shelf — I notice — a 340 dollar horse and a hundred dollar whore.
Hmmm perhaps I’m what some would call a MILF — not that I would ever refer to myself this way but it’s where I’m at in terms of shelf life. The tits kind a dried up having fulfilled the supply chain. I’ve always turned heads (as the saying says) though never before absconded with a two dollar slushy.
I’ve come to the conclusion, it’s a fair exchange.
©Breathe & Be Still — 2022
I have to admit that being a woman responding to this prompt was ridiculously fun. Thanks J.D. Harms for another inspiring one. And thanks to both J.D. and Melissa Coffey for crafting the space of Scrittura and continuing to invigorate our imaginations with these provocative prompts.
