At the beer distributor, a sweet lady
with long grey hair and a flannel shirt
tends the register.
She could be a librarian except
for the nudie calendar
hanging near the counter
and the twinkling look she gives
as if she knows you’re up to no good.
Her cage is filled with candy
and a small tv. She smiles and always
has a kind word.
There’s a poster on her bathroom door
of a chick with huge knockers.
It looks like she’s juggling watermelons
inside her tank top.
Maneuvering through stacks of beer cases
makes me feel like Indiana Jones
looking for the ark in a crypt
except there are no snakes, only beef jerky
and I’m looking for a craft beer for the husband and not a direct link to God.
I give exact change
and she gives me insight
into the local traffic,
which has picked up due to the detour;
I saw two redneck monster trucks,
one motorcycle, four suvs,
and three Amish buggies.
The bell on the door as I exit
finishes my thoughts.
The Word Rummager 
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