Mrs. Capone made sausages

 

            On Saturdays I hung around a butcher shop

            Delivering meat on foot for tips

            And lunch –

            The highlight of my day

 

            They always looked the same, the sausages,

            Coming out of her machine

            With their pink translucent skins

 

            I never knew or asked about

            What went in

 

            She never told

 

            She served them warm and crisp

            On a quarter-loaf of bread

 

            They were delicious

            Even if business wasn’t good or

            She and Bernie, her husband, had a fight

 

            When she was happy

            I could have eaten my heart out

            All afternoon