Secrets                                                             


            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


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            Emanuel E. García, Leaf Thoughts, One Hundred Poems2013

          author's video reading