THE JUG SHOP

The radio clears its throat of morning
news and traffic as the chardonnays get
dusted. A certain disrespectful grape
is tossed around, then football and girlfriends,
strippers, Osama, growth funds, gin, Iraq,
and finally, football again. Faux sleigh bells
clank at 9:18 when the first shopper
barges in. She needs some help with sparkling
wines. Her price sensitivity is probed.

The woman buys the Veuve Clicquot because
she likes the label. Her brain and body
are gavelled-in soon as she’s out the door.
The verdict: too much of one, not enough
of the other. Floods and war, hooded men
the talk show fare at lunch. No robbers come
with masks and guns to suck at money’s jugs.
No earthquake makes the bottles fall crashing
to the floor. Bells ring drinkers in. Doors close.