Tonight's Poet Corner: Suit Grease Saturday

Suit Grease Saturday
by Belinda Roddie

It's when the entrails of a small
concession stand's sacrificial
offerings spill on your
Italian necktie, fresh from Florence,
that you get a little hot-faced and
cold-eyed and fret a bit before your
standard weekend meeting when you
of course should be lounging in the
living room, eating pizza with your
beautiful plump girlfriend instead.

Doesn't make you feel better that the
grease looks like a cauliflower
pattern against the warm,
honeysuckle orange of your
foreign striped accessory, and you
check your watch only to realize
it's stopped with relish on top,
and the hot dog wasn't so good, anyway,
and you
feel like punching the vendor and getting
sued for a good ten thousand grand before you
hightail it to Seattle for a less classy
workplace obligation.