On Salami

Here we are, yet again.

(“We” being people and I;

True, I am also a person,

But by no means am I “People.”)

So. Here we are. 

The People are speaking with such fervor about salami.

Fresh-cut butcher’s salami.
Does it taste good with turkey rye and provolone questionmarkquestionmarkexclamationpoint

The way Chucky winks butchering the salami.

One of The People thinks he is cute—
Chucky, winking and smirking
through the smeared plexiglas like that.

Another has crossed him off as creepy,
is willing to drive five miles out of the way to Publix
because Ain’t no man need to be winking at me anyhow.

“I prefer Greek-Italian Salami,
it’s just better you know what I mean, Maureen?”

The lights dim. The room silences in perfect harmony.

A chilling east wind slams the door shut.

Everything I know about lunch meat is spinning around my head. 

Suddenly the universe itself is revolving around

My core beliefs on salami.

Naturally, I have none.

“You’re so quiet!” The People revolt.

I apologize profusely,

Though for what I’m not sure.

For once, I want to know what it feels like

To be impassioned by the sort of talk that

Has no middle, beginning or end

ABOUT: if I had a dollar for every time I had nothing of value to add to a conversation, I could afford to Airbnb a cabin in the middle of the woods for a week.