Friday, April 18, 2008


Each night I’d sit down at the kitchen table,
Maybe around nine or ten o’clock.
I’d start in with the wine
And start in with the words.
After a little while I’d get hungry,
And root around in the fridge or pantry
For something to eat.
One night I came out with some rice crackers,
A bottle of some burrito simmering sauce
And a big ball of mozzarella cheese.
I made little sandwiches,
Popped them into my mouth
And washed them down with gulps of rotgut.
After I’d eaten a few,
I stared at the mozzarella and wondered,
“what the hell ever happened to string cheese?”
I gave it some thought
And figured it was probably still being sold.
I probably just hadn’t noticed it
In the past twenty years.
“but,” I wondered, “what spurred the idea?”
I was very bored at that time,
And I’d mentally dissect the stupidest things.
“was it accidental? Were the strings of cheese,
Like, actually byproducts of balls like this?”
I looked over at Monty,
This Jack Russell Terrier
Who mainly slept all day,
Taking a couple shits here and there.
She was snoozing, her ears twitching gently.
“HEY!” I shouted, startling her,
Causing her to pin her ears back and worry.
“you’ve never considered that, have you?”
I asked her, speaking lower and slower.
“you’ve never really thought about
who invented string cheese, have you, Monty?”
She stared at me for a few moments,
then ducked her head back onto her paws.
“oh!” I shouted, closing my eyes,
putting my head back and roaring,
“what the hell do you know, anyway?”

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