New to this muggy sprawl of bayous and billboards,
I keep forgetting the rules.
I pop into the store for some milk, bread, cheese,
then grab a bottle of wine on my way out—
an afterthought really, I’m innocent as a cookie.
But the cashier seizes my bottle,
looks at me as if I tossed a puppy
into traffic, and tells me again
that she cannot sell alcohol on Sundays
“Till ONE PM.”
Never mind that I don’t believe
in clock-watching deities,
or in deities at all,
unless you count butterflies,
and the northern lights,
and redwood trees.
This is God’s country,
where you can buy a gun
but not a beer
on Sunday morning.
Jean Ryan, a native Vermonter, lives in coastal Alabama and believes that retirement is highly underrated. She has published four books, and her work has appeared in many journals and anthologies. https://jean-ryan.com/
Astute and beautifully written, as always.
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