Monday, February 22, 2016

The butcher shop

My mother sent me
on the all-American errand.
She needed a pound
of ground beef
for a hamburger meal
typical of my youth.

I had to stand on my tiptoes
to see over the white counter
and place my order.

 The butcher put the chunks
 of beef through
the silver grinder two times
carefully kneading
 the strings of red meat
before weighing
 the lump on the scale
 and wrapping
 in heavy brown paper.

He came around
to collect my fistful of money
after wiping his hands
on his bloody apron.

I took the package
and left

the butcher shop